


Lath Araval Ena (The Path Will Emerge)

by misscam



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Trespasser, Some angst, a lot of life, and elves dealing with their life choices, some hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscam/pseuds/misscam
Summary: "She thinks it’s an end. Her end, their end. She doesn’t know it’s also beginning – despite both being resigned to death, they end up living. It makes things very complicated." A story of Solas and Lavellan, duty and love, hearts and minds, and life after resignation to death. What path will they take now?





	1. Prologue: Resignation

**Author's Note:**

> I play too many video games and thinks too much about video game characters and their choices, clearly. This story will have some angst, but also hope, because I cannot help my optimistic nature. Set after Trespasser - will almost certainly be made non-canon by DA4.

Lath Araval Ena (The Path Will Emerge)  
by misscam

II

Prologue: Resignation

II

The first time she sees him again after the Crossroads, she’s aware it is probably the last time. There is a definite chance he might feel forced to kill her. There is a definite chance she might feel forced to kill him. There is a definite chance they might both die even if all goes to plan, and in so doing, complete the tragedy that is their story. She’s reconciled herself to all these possibilities (or at least tells herself that). Her own din’anshiral to stop his. 

She’s determined. She’s made her choice. She’s tried everything else to reach him, to change his mind. She’s resigned herself to this being the choice left to her. She is ready. 

It will probably be the last time she sees him – so she makes the most of it. 

She sees him a few moments before he notices her – and she sees the tense lines of his body, the tautness in his skin, the dark expression on his face, the fatigue in the dark circles under his eyes. He looks terrible, despite his grand armor and the power radiating from him. He almost looks like the death he has resigned himself to. 

It hurts, but it also feels good, almost comforting. Despite all, it’s still Solas. It’s Solas, alive and really there, not just out of reach in a dream that feels more like a haunting. It’s Solas, _Solas_ , and that still means something. What, she doesn’t dare dwell on. That would hurt too much. 

His head turns slightly, and he sees her. For a moment, he just stares. His eyes are sad, but also bright when looking at her, lighting up at the sight of her. 

“Vhenan,” he breathes, and she hates how sincere it sounds on his lips, even after everything. For a moment, there is even the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Solas,” she says. Her voice sounds a touch strained, but it doesn’t crack. It holds, just barely, much like her heart. She can see him savor the sound of his name on her lips, his face softening before he tenses again. 

(She doesn’t call him Fen’Harel. He isn’t that to her, not even now. That would feel like a defeat, like giving up, like truly, truly losing him.) 

“You should not be here,” he says without preamble. In the distance, she hears the sounds of fighting. His forces against the Tevinter forces. Hopefully, her small force has managed to stay out of the fighting. They are here to take advantage, not to engage. 

“Nevertheless, I am here,” she challenges, stepping closer. He watches her as she does, guarded, but also wistful, torn between conflicting emotions. She knows how he feels. 

“So you are,” he agrees. “Without tipping off any of my agents. Impressive.”

“Leliana would thank you for the compliment, I’m sure,” she says, and for a moment, for a glorious moment, they share the tiniest of smiles, shared memories of the Inquisition and their companions overshadowing the present. Just for a moment, and then he clasps his hands behind his back and tries to look detached. 

“Why are you here?” he asks.

She exhales, steeling herself. “To stop you.”

He doesn’t look surprised, she notes. Nor does he look disappointed. He just looks determined, and sad, so very sad. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he replies. “You cannot change my mind, vhenan.”

“I changed your heart,” she challenges. “ _Vhenan_ , Solas. In your own words.”

He sighs, and she steps yet closer. She is nearly close enough to touch, and his nearness seems to stir all the memories she’s tried to bury. How it felt being in his arms. How it felt kissing him. How it felt like being just Lavellan and Solas, not the (former) Inquisitor facing the Dread Wolf. 

He looks at her as if he too, remembers all too well now, and she wonders if that is why he always stayed out of reach in her dreams. Easier to stay detached at a distance, after all. 

“You are my heart,” he says very softly, almost as much to himself as to her. “My duty to my people, to my world, must come before all else. Ir abelas, vhenan. I wish…”

He shakes his head, as if trying to shake the thought. She wonders what he wishes for, if it’s anything like what she has spent the last months wishing for. 

“I must do this,” he says, voice hard. “You cannot change my mind. My path is set. I walk the din’anshiral. You cannot change that.”

Her heart breaks a little, again, and she steels herself, again. She always knew this was the most likely response she’d get. She always knew what she would probably have to do.

It doesn’t make it any easier. 

“Ir abelas, vhenan” she echoes. “I have a duty too. To my people and my world – and to you.”

He looks up sharply, eyes alight with magic and alarm, but it is already too late. She has already stepped closer and touched him, and everything, everything becomes magic and pain, filling her and roaring in her head. She thinks she might scream; she is pretty sure he does too. It hurts, oh how it hurts, as his magic bleeds from him and into her. 

“Lavellan….” He gasps. “What have you done?”

“What I had to,” she says, falling into him as her legs start to give in. He keeps her upright for a moment, his body trembling in pain as hers does; it is a strangely tender embrace despite it all. He refuses to let go, and so they both fall to the ground, clinging to each other. The last thing she sees is his gaze, eyes so very blue, so very broken.

She thinks it’s an end. Her end, their end. She doesn’t know it’s also beginning – despite both being resigned to death, they end up living. 

It makes things very complicated.


	2. Part One: What You Are

II

Part One: What You Are

II

She doesn’t dream, but she is adrift in something, only half aware. It is not the Fade. It is not nothing. It feels almost like an ocean, rocking her gently, drowning out all thoughts or memories. She’s just there, aware but not awake, and it is strangely peaceful. 

How long it goes on for, she doesn’t know, but slowly, she becomes aware of voices. There is Cassandra, being angry about something. There is Leliana, so very soft, and Varric, gruff and loud. There is Cullen, arguing about something, his voice sharp. 

There is her name, being called again and again, and it begins to feel like a pull. Slowly, slowly, she drifts into awareness. 

She’s in a bed, she realizes, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Her body feels heavy, but also oddly abuzz, and it takes her a moment to remember why. Solas’s magic. His magic in her, though not quite like how she once carried the Anchor. This is intentional – and hopefully it won’t threaten to kill her in the process. Hopefully.

“You’re awake,” she hears, and glances to see Sera close by. “Shitebag.”

“Nice to see you too, Sera,” Lavellan murmurs, glancing around to see Varric asleep in a chair. It must be late at night, judging by the light in the room. She winces as she sits up, her body aching every second of it. It hurts, but certain things matter more than pain. “Is he…”

“He’s alive,” Sera says, and Lavellan lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She closes her eyes and tries to center herself. She’s alive. He’s alive. Impossibly, they’re both still alive. 

“You were unconscious for three days,” Sera goes on, sounding particularly affronted. “Cassandra was sure you were going to die. _You. Die. You._ For that elfy nug-face.”

“To save the world too, Sera,” Lavellan says, but Sera looks less than impressed. “But yes. For Solas too.”

“Ugh,” Sera says, but softer this time. “You two always looked at each other like you were eyeing a chocolate you couldn’t wait to bite into. Widdle said I should be understanding. I say if you want some payback on Elfy, I’m the friend to do it.”

“I don’t,” Lavellan says softly, reaching out to take her hand. “But thank you, Sera. For the offer, and… Everything else.”

Sera shrugs, but a little too nonchalantly. After a moment, she jumps off the chair. “You want to see him now, don’t you? You have that chocolate look again.”

Lavellan cannot help a soft laugh, even if it’s tinged with sadness. “Yes, Sera. I want to see him.”

II

She finds him in the dungeon, sitting in the corner of a cell that feels like it takes forever to unlock. He’s no longer wearing his armor, she notes, and is instead dressed in something akin to what he wore the first time she saw him. The shackles on his wrist is a very definite reminder that a lot has changed since then, however. His face is half in shadow, half in light, and he looks… Empty, drained, lost, all at once. 

“Solas,” she says, and he looks up instantly, rising to his feet as she walks closer. 

“You’re alive,” he says, voice dark but eyes bright. “They wouldn’t tell me if you were.”

“They weren’t sure if I would live,” she explains, and he exhales and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at her again. “I only woke up a short time ago.”

“I could not find your dreams,” he says. “I thought… I am glad I was wrong.”

“I had no dreams,” she explains softly. “I don’t know if I was even asleep. I was… I don’t know what I was or where I was, but now I am here again.”

He seems to consider that, mulling it over for a moment before focusing on her again, his gaze intense as he steps closer and into her space. 

“I am glad you are here, vhenan” he says softly, and she feels tears pricking at her eyes. Still vhenan. She didn’t think… Even if they both lived, she didn’t think she would hear that from him again.

“Vhenan,” she echoes. “Despite what I did?”

“Vhenan,” he says again, lifting his hands to her cheek. The steel of his shackles feels cold against her skin, but his palms feel so very warm, and she leans into the touch. “Not despite. You devised a clever plan to protect your world, and willingly walked to your possible death to see it through, yet survived. You did the impossible, as you’ve done so many times before. I fell in love with you for what you are, vhenan. Why would I resent it now?”

He is kissing her before she can answer, so very softly and lovingly that she cannot fight the tears anymore; he kisses those too, featherlight brushes of lips across her face that each feel like a declaration of love. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. There is something final in his voice, she registers distantly, as he kisses her again, a touch desperately this time. He kisses her, and kisses her, on and on, alternating between hard, open-mouthed kisses that steals her breath away and peppering kisses against her lips lightly while she catches her breath again. 

She isn’t sure how long they remain kissing; it feels like an eternity and yet not long enough.

“I am glad I was able to see you again, one last time,” he whispers as he pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against hers and kissing the edges of her lips. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

One last, she thinks, realizing. He thinks he is going to die – no, he is certain he is going to die.

No. No, no, no, _no_. She accepted that he might die as a result of trying to stop him, even if the thought broke her heart, but she will not accept losing him like this. It is probably entirely irrational and contrary, and she doesn’t care.

“Solas,” she says, and he pulls back further to look at her oddly. He smiles a touch sadly as he takes in her expression.

“Vhenan,” he says. “I have accepted my fate. I can feel my magic thrumming inside you. Locked away, yes, but all locks have a key. Eventually, I would find it. Even if I did not, my agents might – or they would find me a new source of magic. I will not abandon my duty to my people, and thus, I will always be a threat to your world. Letting me live would be most unwise. Cassandra and the others know that. You know that.” 

“You haven’t accepted your fate,” she says angrily. “You have resigned yourself to death – _again_.”

“There is no other…” he begins, but she kisses him angrily, making him stumble backwards until his back is pressed against the wall and his hands are pressed against her chest. He sighs softly into her mouth, tilting his head to meet her kiss tenderly.

Her voice is ragged when she pulls away slightly. “I will not accept death as your fate.”

“You may have to. You told me you have a duty to your people and your world,” he reminds her.

“That includes you,” she says, kissing his hands. “I told you that.”

“So you did,” he agrees, brushing his nose against hers. 

“Var lath vir suledin,” she tells him, as she did once before. He looks wistful, but not hopeful, and she isn’t sure if she is more heartbroken for him or angry at him. “You told me you love me for what I am – so trust what I am, Solas.”

He lowers his head, and she kisses his furrowed brow, feeling the struggle in him as he thinks. Gently, she draws her fingers across his cheek and along the edges of his ears; his breath stutters slightly at the touch before he tilts his head up and kisses her earlobe in response.

That’s when Cassandra walks in on them. 

She’s not too pleased.


	3. Part Two: Trust and Life

II

Part Two: Trust and Life

II

Cassandra is very, very displeased, as it turns out.

“Allow me to summarize – you, Leliana, Cullen and Dorian devised a plan that essentially made you a living foci that harnessed most of Solas’s magic – destroying several priceless magical artifacts in the process, I might add - not knowing if it would work, or if you’d life through harnessing his magic, or if you’ll even be able to keep it locked inside without it killing you afterwards,” Cassandra says, in that voice that is all Divine and not much else.

“Just about,” Lavellan replies, all false cheerfulness. She feels bone tired, but she’s not about to show Cassandra that. 

Cassandra shoots her a pointed look. “Did you even consider the consequences if you failed?” 

“I didn’t just consider them,” Lavellan bites back, feeling an urge to snap. “I resigned myself to them.”

Cassandra looks uncomfortable for a moment. “I see.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Lavellan says after a moment. Cassandra does care, she reminds herself. “I knew you would try to talk me out of it.”

“You’re probably right,” Cassandra says. She sighs. “Not that it would have done any good, I dare say. You were never unwilling to listen to advice, but once you had your heart set on something, you always were particularly stubborn.”

“I learned from the best,” Lavellan says, and Cassandra raises an eyebrow, then smiles faintly. 

“Regardless of how dangerous and ill-considered your plan was, I cannot deny it succeeded,” Cassandra says after a moment, sounding as if she begrudges having to admit it. “The world owes you more than it will ever realize, Inquisitor.”

“I am not…” Lavellan says, and Cassandra merely waves her off.

“You may have given up the title, but it does not change who you are. Now, would you prefer the Chantry deal with… what remains to be done?”

Cassandra looks at her expectedly, and Lavellan feels a shiver down her spine. “What remains to be done?”

“Solas,” Cassandra says patiently. “He must be executed or at very least be made Tranquil.”

“No.”

“Lavellan…”

“ _No_.” 

Cassandra sighs again. “I am not unfamiliar with loss, Lavellan. I realize Solas was… a dear friend to you, but it must be done. You cannot trust him. If he tried to convince you otherwise…”

“He didn’t,” Lavellan says dully. “He told me he accepted his fate and explained how unwise it would be to let him live.”

“He was right.”

“No,” Lavellan repeats again. She feels almost like a petulant child, but she doesn’t care. “If it becomes necessary, I will do it myself. Until then, he will remain in our custody and you will not intervene. You may not trust him, but you do trust me. Trust me with his life.”

Cassandra meets her gaze, and Lavellan refuses to look away. It feels like a battle of wills, neither yielding, and eventually, Cassandra sighs again.

“We shall discuss this again at a later date,” she says. “I am glad you lived, Inquisitor.” 

Lavellan watches her go, then stalks off in the opposite direction. She knows she should probably talk to Cullen, to Dorian and to Leliana, but the mere thought makes her head hurt. They’ll want her to talk them through everything that happened, then debate what comes next (maybe even support Cassandra’s suggestion, or at least discuss the merits of it) and finally make plans. She doesn’t want to make plans right now. She wants… She wants to let Solas hold her and pretend everything is simple in his arms. 

Nothing is simple, she reminds himself. It may feel like her life before the Anchor, or even her life at Skyhold during the Inquisition, was simple, but that is merely because it has gotten more complicated since. 

She sighs as she exists the hallway and finds herself outside. She doesn’t immediately recognize the scenery, so she isn’t sure exactly where this particular hideout is. Leliana set up several to keep an eye on events – or perhaps it’s one of Cullen’s, to house the troops that were technically disbanded when the Inquisition was technically ended. Now it’s just a group of friends doing friendly gatherings and nothing at all like an organization. Not at all.

She smiles faintly. Perhaps Cassandra is right about one thing. She may have given up the official title, but that doesn’t change who she is. They still follow her. 

“Excuse me,” a voice says, and she turns around to see a man in Chantry robes appear. He must have come with Cassandra – she can see a few other Chantry guards scattered around the area as well. “Is it true, Herald? Have you caught Fen’Harel?”

Lavellan feels a faint tingling at the back of her neck. Danger, she thinks faintly, but isn’t sure why.

“You have,” the man goes on before she can say anything, as if he reads it on her face. He reads more than that, she realizes. He must have magical abilities of some kind, because she feels something tap against her head, as if probing her. “His magic… You’re holding his magic!”

“You’re one of his agents,” she breathes, wishing she didn’t feel so tired, wishing she didn’t have just one hand anymore. Carefully, she edges slightly backwards, and he immediately follows. None of the others seem to have noticed anything wrong, and she considers whether or not to alert them or if that will simply provoke an immediate attack.

“Did you think he only infiltrated the Inquisition?” the man sneers. She wonders if he’s a disguised Elf, or a human serving the Dread Wolf for his own reasons. “Lord Fen’Harel has agents everywhere.”

“He has also made it clear that I am not to be harmed,” she says. She doesn’t know that for certain, of course, but Solas has had many chances to wipe her out, wipe her whole group out, and hasn’t taken it. He must have given orders to leave them alone, or something in that vein.

She can see from the man’s expression that she is right. For a moment, she thinks it will be enough. Then his gaze hardens.

“He will forgive me,” he says and she thinks distantly that no, no, Solas will definitely not. Probably painfully not, in fact. She would almost pity this man – if he wasn’t determined to kill her, that is.

The attack is swift. A dagger slash that she manages to dodge, another that scrapes what remains of her arm. She can hear raised voices, meaning they’ve definitely been noticed now, and it is only a matter of holding him off long enough. She keeps her eyes on him, staying on her toes, just barely dodging another slash.

The man curses at her, and she thinks she might actually survive this when she hears the twang of a bow and feels the arrow slam into her side. Oh. Oh. Of course he wasn’t alone. Of course there is more than one agent in the Chantry. 

She hears shouting and fighting as she stumbles backwards, hissing in pain. She tries to keep her remaining arm raised, but can’t quite block the slash across her shoulder. It hurts, but not as much as her side. As she glances down, she can see her own blood pooling at her feet. 

This isn’t good, she thinks, the understatement of an age.

The man doesn’t attack again. Looking up, she realizes that he’s fleeing, and that Cullen is running towards her, face pale and eyes wide. 

“Ellana!” he calls out, and she tries to smile as he rushes to her side, supporting her against him. 

“Don’t blame Solas,” she manages to say. “Not his orders. Not his… Fault. Not…”

Cullen looks angry for a moment, then seems to temper himself. “We will figure out who to blame later.”

Lavellan doesn’t have the strength to nod. Everything hurts. Everything hurts so badly, and she’s so, so tired. Maybe it’s time to sleep. Maybe it’s time to…

Everything becomes darkness, and she dreams.

II

_“Vhenan.”_

_She turns. She’s at the door to a balcony at Skyhold, and Solas is waiting there, bathed in sunlight. The mountains are tall behind them, their peaks white with snow. It is beautiful, just as beautiful as she remembers. He kissed her out here once, and she wonders if he will again._

_“Solas,” she says, and he smiles._

_“Come to me, vhenan,” he urges. He holds out a hand, and she glances down at her own hand. Huh. There is blood on it, dripping to the floor._

_“What is happening?” she asks. Her own voice feels distant._

_“You’re in pain,” Solas says, sounding strangely pained. “Vhenan, please. Please walk to me. Do not look back.”_

_She is about to ask what is behind her, but somehow, she knows. There is darkness there. No pain, no complications, no fights. Just darkness, and in it, dreamless rest._

_She is so tired._

_“Vhenan,” Solas pleads again, and she looks up to see tears in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know you are tired. But please - come to me.”_

_She closes her eyes. For a moment, she remains where she is, between the darkness behind her and the light in front of her, moving towards either. Then she takes a deep breath and takes his hand, steeping into his embrace and the sunlight. He immediately pulls her as close as he can manage, his forehead resting against hers._

_“Thank you,” he breathes. “Vhenan, listen. You were attacked. You were reliving your memory of it in your dreams until I pulled you into another memory. You are gravely injured. One of your wounds is poisoned. They won’t know how to heal it. You’re barely clinging to life as it is. It will kill you unless…”_

_“Unless?” she prompts. She feels lighthearted, but tries to focus on his words._

_“Unless I heal you,” he says. He pulls back slightly, cupping her head in his hands. “I know how to heal it. You hold my magic, but unless I am very mistaken about how you and Dorian drew it from me, you can release as much as you wish back to me. It need only be a small portion, my love. Enough for me to save your life. I know you don’t trust me with your world, but do you trust me with your life?”_

_“Yes,” she says without hesitation. She does. “Solas… If I die, Dorian believes your magic will be unlocked again. You could reclaim it. You could just let me die.”_

_“I cannot,” Solas says, voice hard, but when he kisses her, it is achingly tender. “Wake up, vhenan.”_

II

She does; gasping and crying, she wakes into pain and surrounded by faces she’s can’t make out. She calls out Solas’s name again and again until she hears someone finally relent and go get him, and an eternity of sharp pain later, she feels his hands taking hers.

“I am here,” he says calmly. “Now, vhenan.”

His magic is as vast as an ocean inside her, calm and trapped, and she imagines a wave of it breaking free, free of her, and then…. Then crashing into him. She has no idea if it’s enough, if it’s too much, but moments later, she feels his magic, so familiar and gentle, drowning out the pain.

“Good,” he whispers. She can hear arguments around her, but Solas is completely focused on her. “Now you can go to sleep again, vhenan. You will dream and feel better when you wake. I will make them pleasant dreams, I promise.”

“Will you be there?” she asks. She can feel him press a kiss against her hand. 

“In a little while,” he promises. “I believe your companions have a few choice words for me first. I will join you when I am able.”

The last thing she sees is his face as he leans forward to kiss her brow, and his eyes are still bright with magic.


	4. Part Three: Fools in Love

Part Three: Fools in Love

II

_She dreams of many things._

_She dreams of being surrounded by her clan, eyes on the path ahead as they move together, feeling a part of something greater. She dreams of hunting in the Free Marches, eyes on her prey, nothing existing but her and the hunt. She dreams of a quiet evening in Haven, snow falling outside while her friends and companions bantered easily around her._

_She dreams of the rotunda, of the murals, her fingers tracing the lines of each one._

_“I enjoyed painting these,” Solas says, and she turns to see him leaning against a wall. “It seems this place is a pleasant memory for us both.”_

_“It seems so,” she agrees, swallowing a lump in her throat. He looks like he walked straight out of her memories, even dressed as he would be back then._

_Slowly, he walks towards her, looking at her with an expression she can’t quite read. When he reaches her, he smiles faintly however, and tilts his head to kiss her. It is soft, lingering, and so loving it makes her toes curl, but there is something else too – just a touch of desperation._

_She lets her hand rest at his waist, while his hands move to her back to press her a little closer. He takes his time kissing her, nipping at her lips from every angle, each touch like a reverent caress. She feels breathless even before he deepens the kiss, and even more so when he finally does. His mouth is hot and tastes faintly of something pleasantly sharp; his tongue brushes against hers again and again and he seems to delight in how it feels._

_She draws a shuddering breath when he pulls back slightly, his breath tickling her lips as he breathes._

_“I wanted to kiss you in this room, just like this, so many times,” he admits softly._

_“I wanted you to,” she says, and he sighs softly. Gently, he lifts a hand to her cheek._

_“I thought it would be easier to lose you – and you lose me – if we had less memories like this,” he says, glancing down. “I was so sure it was the wisest cause of action. I am not sure I was as wise as I thought. What we could have had seems to haunt me just as much as what we did have. Is it the same for you, vhenan?”_

_“I think so,” she says slowly. “I cannot imagine it hurting any more than it did watching you walk away from me. I loved you for who you were with me, not just for what we shared.”_

_He sighs again. “I have been a fool.”_

_“You have,” she agrees, and he glances down at her and notices her teasing smile._

_“You need not look so delighted by my admission,” he says, not quite managing to sound disapproving._

_“Oh, but I do need to,” she counters cheekily, and he shakes his head lightly. Then she finds herself being kissed again, a touch hungrily and impatiently, and with less restraint than earlier. It makes her wonder how it would feel being kissed without any restraint at all._

_He pulls away with a pained groan. “Twice a fool. Vhenan, we need to talk about what happened to you today.”_

_She nods, and he takes her hand, leading her over to a sheet-covered longue. Gently, they both sit down, Solas never letting go of her hand._

_“Did Cullen and Cassandra blame you for the attack?” she asks, and the look on his face is confirmation enough. “I told Cullen you were not to blame.”_

_“Part of the fault is mine,” he says softly. “I thought I had made it clear that you and the former Inquisition were to be left alone, and only engaged if absolutely necessary and even then, deaths would not be acceptable. I obviously didn’t communicate clearly enough. I will rectify that.”_

_“Rectify how?” she asks, but he doesn’t elaborate, merely continues on._

_“Your companions accepted that I had no direct blame for the attack after I healed you,” he says. “They also seem to accept that I am no danger to your life, though Cassandra obviously thinks me a danger to your ability to make rational decisions.”_

_“Cassandra is…” she begins, but Solas touches her cheek softly._

_“Cassandra is right, I believe,” he says. “You are a danger to my abilities to make rational decisions too, vhenan. We are both beyond rational now.”_

_She swallows. He sounds strangely sad and happy about it at the same time, as if he has lost something and gained something simultaneously._

_“I was wrong about something else,” he says, and now he just sounds troubled. “After you took my magic, I resigned myself to death and comforted myself with the thought that it would at least leave you safe. I was wrong. As long as you hold my magic, you are in danger, Ellana. There are those among my followers who would… Convince themselves that killing you and finding a way to unlock my magic would be honoring me. There are other dangers too – there are others like Corypheus who may seek to replenish their power, and there are many mages who may think they worthy of such a power and attempt to claim it.”_

_She considers all that. “Perhaps. But even if you are right, I accept that risk, Solas.”_

_“It is not an acceptable risk to me,” he says, and she imagines that that tone, that tone is the general in him, the elf that commanded so many of his people._

_“It is my choice to make,” she says softly. “If you are trying to convince me to return your magic to you, I will not.”_

_“I’m not trying to convince you of that,” he says, and the unspoken ‘yet’ seems to loom large between them. He will try to convince her of that sooner or later, she knows. “I am trying to convince you that… No, I am telling you that I will do what I can – what I must – to keep you safe.”_

_“Am I not given a choice in the matter?” she asks, and his eyes are all steel as he looks at her._

_“I was not given a choice in the matter when you captured me,” he reminds her. “I thought no less of you for that. I loved you no less for that. I have accepted it is who you are. Do you accept who I am, vhenan?”_

_Even if his voice is mostly even, she can hear the vulnerability underneath – almost masked, but not quite. He loves her, but he is not immune to doubts, insecurities, fears. Much like her. He accepted her anger so readily when he first revealed he was Fen’Harel, she remembers. Did he expect revulsion too? How must he have felt, keeping a part of him away from her? Did he fear she would love him less? Does he still?_

_He loves her for who she is, she knows. Does she?_

_“Fen’Harel,” she says, and he winches slightly and lowers his head. Gently, she puts her hand on his chin, tilting his head up to look at her. “I fell in love with Solas, an apostate mage with the pride of a king that confused me, challenged me, advised me. I loved you. You are still that, but you are more too. You are Fen’Harel as well – an Elvhen rebel that did his best to protect those dear to him even at a terrible cost. I thought if I acknowledged that part of you that I would lose you, but… But I was as much a fool as you were. You are Fen’Harel. You are Solas. You are more than I once thought, but I love you no less. I lose you if I do not accept that.”_

_He takes in her words, then lets out a breath and buries his head in the crook of her neck. She holds him gently, pressing kisses to the back of his neck._

_“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispers._

_“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she echoes, and means it. She will fight him if she has to in order to save her world, and she will never stop trying to change his mind about what he has planned, but she will love him all the way through it. She loves him as he is._

_He lifts his head up to look at her, then kisses her very gently._

_“I will keep you safe,” he promises, kissing her again as if to stress the point._

_“How?” she asks, and he grimaces slightly._

_“Best not ask, vhenan. You will not like it, and you will most certainly be angry with me.”_

_She glares at him, but he looks unabashed. Well. She will deal with that when the time comes, she decides. Anger and the future can wait. For now, she wants to enjoy her dream._

_As if he can tell, Solas lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing it gently._

_“You still need to heal,” he says softly. “Think of a pleasant memory, we will dwell in it until it is time to wake up.”_

_She considers a few options, then imagines the Orleasian Court, music, a balcony, and Solas._

_“Ah,” he murmurs, and she feels their surroundings shift into what she imagined. “I remember this too.”_

_“Dance with me,” she says, and finds herself swept into his arms, his feet light as he moves her around. The music is not as she remembers though, she realizes. It sounds… It is Elvhen, she just knows, even if she has never heard it before. It is not from her memory. It is from his._

_If he has done it on purpose or not, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t ask._

_They dance, and in the dream, the music lasts through the night._


	5. Part Four: Plans Within Plans

Part Four: Plans Within Plans

II

“Ellana, wake up.”

Startled, Lavellan finds herself in darkness, and feels completely disorientated. She was dancing. It was sunset. Solas was holding her, humming an ancient song in her ear. It was warm and comforting; this is dark and pain, so much pain.

“Ellana.”

Dorian’s voice, and she glances down at her hand to see the crystal he gave her. She isn’t sure who has put it there, as the room is dark and quiet, but he has probably convinced Cullen or one of his mage buddies to leave it with her and go for a walk.

“Dorian,” she says. Her voice is ragged and weak, and she’s amazed he can even hear her. “I’m here.”

“Barely here, by the sounds of it,” he says, and she almost laughs.

“Charmer.”

“As you say,” he says lightly, then slides right into serious. “Cassandra is considering taking you all to the Grand Cathedral.” 

Lavellan groans, then curses, then groans again. “How do you know?”

“Mutual friends,” Dorian says without elaborating. “I thought you should know. She believes you will be safer there, and that… the fate of our friend should be decided there.”

“They will kill him,” Lavellan says, and the tone in her voice startles even her. 

“Perhaps,” Dorian acknowledges. 

“We caught him,” she says, staring into the dark. “It was our plan. It was our success. He’s ours. We… I won’t…”

Her voice breaks. She breathes, wishing she had water. Her throat feels dry, and her head is spinning. She has to think clearly, but her mind isn’t entirely cooperative, and her body is actively working against her. 

“Is she planning to discuss this with me?” she manages after a few moments.

“Possibly. Possibly not.”

She considers that. Is it best to confront Cassandra, pretend to go along with it, or vanish from under her nose? 

“You can always come here,” Dorian suggests softly.

“With the amount of magic I am holding, I would be the honey and every Tevinter mage would be the bee,” she says, and Dorian makes a noise that is half a laugh, and half a sigh. “I wouldn’t be safe. Neither would Solas.”

“I know,” he says. “Solas said much the same.”

“You talked to Solas?” she asks, feeling surprised and yet realizing she probably shouldn’t be. He promised he would keep her safe in their dream, and he is probably already plotting, planning and setting things in motion. He is who he is, after all.

“Ah,” Dorian says. “Ah. Yes. Briefly. He informed me you had been hurt. He complimented me on our plan, though he was not pleased by the danger it had put you in.”

“Ah,” she mimics. 

“He loves you,” Dorian says, and she swallows. “He made certain I knew that.”

“I love him,” she admits.

“I know,” he says, and his tone is slightly odd. “I have known that for a long time, my dear. I am glad he returns the sentiment, though I am afraid… Love isn’t always enough when the fate of the world is at stake. This may not end well for either of you, Ellana.”

“I know,” she says. “But I have to try.”

“Ah,” Dorian says again. He is silent for a moment, as she is, both lost in their own thoughts. “What do you want to do?” 

“I don’t know yet,” she says honestly.

“You have until dawn before the guards around your room returns,” he tells her, and she considers that. He must have bribed them, or perhaps he simply owes some favors. Still. The trust he is placing in her almost makes her want to weep. It is more than she trusts herself. 

“Thank you.” 

“Stay in touch,” Dorian implores, and she can detect a hint of worry in his voice. 

“I will,” she promises, and the crystal goes silent. Slowly, she sits up. She has to think. She has to plan the best course of action. She has to decide who she can trust a plan with. (What she wants is to go back to sleep and pretend the world is simple, but no, it is not.)

First, she manages to locate a pitcher with water, and drinks until it is empty. It helps clear her head, and her feet fell in less risk of collapsing under her. Her side and shoulder ache, but not overwhelmingly so. She can endure it. It would probably be better if she had time to rest for a few more days, but she clearly has not. 

She can’t stay here. That much is clear to her. She has to take Solas somewhere out of the Chantry’s reach – out of everyone’s reach but those she can trust to be as irrational about keeping him alive as herself. Tevinter is not an option. Skyhold is probably the first place anyone would look for them, so that is another non-option. Could she take him to her clan? 

She mulls that over while she dresses, wincing whenever she has to lift her arm. It must be close to morning, and she probably has limited time to act before dawn. It will have to be enough time. Perhaps the best plan is simply to get out of here and decide on a destination later.

First things first – every good plan needs at least one good distraction, and she has the perfect one in mind.

Sera.

II

Solas is leaning against the wall of his cell, his eyes closed, face serene. Before he seemed resigned, now he seems… He seems to have found an inner calm, or perhaps it is renewed purpose. Her. She is his purpose, at least for now, and she feels a myriad of emotions at that.

She draws a ragged breath, summoning her strength. There isn’t much left of it, but hopefully she won’t collapse completely before they are well away. 

“Vhenan,” he says, his voice warm. “You should still be in bed.”

“No time,” she says, and he opens his eyes to look at her. “We have to go.”

He gets to his feet immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised. He probably realized it would eventually come to this, perhaps even before her. He looks at her evenly as she unlocks the door, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment as she exhales.

“Where to, vhenan?”

“I don’t know,” she confesses. “Elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere,” he agrees readily. “Lead the way.”

“Let me unlock these shackles first,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“What shackles?” he says, and they fall off him, turning to dust before they even hit the ground. She stares, then catches herself.

“How much magic did I return to you?” she asks evenly. 

“Not much compared to what I had,” he says, stepping forward. “Certainly not enough to tear down the Veil - but enough to keep you safe should we walk into a fight. You are formidable, but you are not invincible, and right now, you’re still recovering from nearly dying _twice_.”

She nods slowly, accepting his words. “Wait. If you now have enough magic to do that, you could have walked out of here last night, after you healed me.”

“Maybe,” he says. “I had no intention of leaving without you, so it was pointless to consider it.”

Oh, she thinks. He could have escaped, but didn’t even consider it because it would mean leaving her. He walked away from her at the Crossroads – with regret, but nevertheless walked away – and now he wouldn’t even consider the idea. Impulsively, she kisses him – it is intended as a quick peck, but he follows as she pulls back, keeping his lips against hers, his hands moving to her back to press her closer.

“Solas!” she protests, but breathlessly. 

“I know,” he agrees, stealing another kiss, and another before reluctantly pulling back. “We must go.”

“Yes,” she agrees, taking his hand and leading him to the door. As they reach it, she pulls two hooded cloaks out of the satchel placed there. 

“Put it on,” she urges. “You have a very distinctive look. As fond as I am of it, we have a better chance if you’re not recognized from miles away.” 

He chuckles slightly as he puts on his cloak and pulls the hood up. “You are hardly undistinctive yourself, my love.”

She glances down at her missing hand, but he immediately shakes his head and steps close, adjusting her hood to cover her hair.

“Not that, vhenan,” he says, framing her head in his hands. “You are the most beautiful in all of Thedas, wherever you go, whatever you wear. You could not be undistinctive even if you tried.”

“Oh,” she says. He is so sincere it makes her heart ache, so she tries to keep her voice light. “You’re being unusually charming in the hopes of getting me into bed, aren’t you?”

“I am not charming in the least,” he counters. “As for getting you into bed… That is entirely up to you, vhenan. I told you once that I would not lie with you under false pretenses. There are none now.”

“I know,” she says, looking up at him. His eyes are bright in the dark, not hiding his desire as he so often tried to before. She still caught glimpses of it then; now it is naked and bare. “Come. We don’t have much time.”

He nods, and she flings the satchel over her shoulder before cautiously peeks into the hallway. It is empty, so she takes his hand and leads him into one of the darker hallways. Above, they can hear cursing and the occasional sound of running. 

“Your doing?” he asks casually as she leads him down the hallway.

“Sera. She delighted at the excuse to make mischief.”

“What reason did you give her?”

“Why do you think she’d need one?”

“Because she is Sera,” he says. “She may delight in her pranks, but she and her friends always have their reasons for it. It is a point of pride for them.”

She glances back at him thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you thought much of Sera.”

“I like to understand people regardless of what I think of them,” he says. “Most people are predictable, once you figure them out.”

He told her that once before, she remembers. He also implied that she was very much not. Does he still think that, she wonders. “Sera didn’t ask for a reason.”

“Then you are the reason,” he surmises. “She is fond of you. They all are. Some even love you. Mine is not the only heart you have claimed, vhenan.”

She shakes her head. “I make no claims.”

“Not intentionally,” he says softly. “But who you are makes claims of many a heart. I speak not out of jealousy. You love many as friends and family, but that is not what you have claimed me as.”

“What I want you as; I haven’t claimed you,” she corrects, feeling a slight heat in her cheeks. He says nothing, but she feels the heat of his gaze on her back as she opens the door. Outside, the horse is thankfully still waiting, but she can hear distant commotion. Have they been discovered already? No, this is something else.

Quickly, Solas helps her fasten the satchel and then mount before climbing up himself; the horse sets off immediately. There are other horses in motion too, she realizes, but not coming at them. Charging outside, carrying a mix of Chantry troops and her followers. In the chaos, they blend in easily.

“Solas?” she asks.

“The Qunari are attacking,” he says softly. “One of my… followers alerted me to what they were planning while I visited the Fade. Worry not. I warned Cullen of the coming attack last night. He has set up an ambush. Your people will be fine.”

“You told Cullen?” she says, and he presses her closer as the horse makes a sharp turn. He can probably detect her fatigue even if he makes no mention of it. In a few days, she’s absorbed enormous amounts of magic and barely survived, endured an attack and barely survived, and sprung her would-be lover out of jail to the probable displeasure of almost everyone she knows. It is, if she were to be honest, a little overwhelming.

At least no one seems to pay them any heed as they steer away from the battle, the sun rising behind them. A battle right now makes her even more exhausted just to think about.

“I visited his dream,” he explains. “He was not easily convinced, but I managed to make him see the potential danger and prepare for the possibility, at least.”

“Are the Qunari here for me or you?”

“No. The Divine. Cassandra put herself at great risk to come here. The Qunari have their agents within the Chantry, as I do.”

“You’re probably saving her life,” she remarks, wondering how Cassandra will feel about that.

“She may have survived regardless,” he says. “But many could have died, including you or any of your friends. I was not willing to risk that. It also seemed an opportune moment to escape.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “Sera was my distraction. This is yours.”

“I will keep you safe,” he says intently. “I cannot do that as a prisoner. I planned accordingly. I knew you would most likely attempt to get me away from the Chantry as well, so I took that into consideration as well.” 

Plans within plans, she thinks. He plans for what others plan too. He called her formidable, but she has to remember that he is too. 

She is about to say something when five Qunari come barreling over the hill, riding their mounts as if possessed. They come to a screeching holt as they notice Lavellan and Solas, however. For a moment, everyone just looks at each other. Then Solas sheds his hood and sits up a touch straighter. 

“You know who I am,” Solas says darkly, all Fen’Harel. “Leave. At once.”

The Qunari exchange looks, and Lavellan gets the sinking feeling that this will not end well. Solas may have been able to petrify countless Qunari in the past, but she has no idea what he is capable of now. He claimed she had given him enough back to protect her in a fight, but he didn’t specify what kind of fight. Five Qunari. Perhaps if he petrifies even one, the others will back of. Perhaps…

She remembers seeing him do it, and her whole body seem to grow hot and cold at once. Dimly, she is aware of one of the Qunari turning slightly; he turns to stone as she looks at him. The horse bolts in response, making the now statue fall to the ground.

Magic. She is no mage, but she just used magic. 

Behind her, Solas tenses in shock. However, when he speaks, his voice betrays nothing.

“That was your one and only warning,” he says. The four remaining Qunari exchange looks, then they are off in the opposite direction. She closes her eyes immediately, and Solas holds her gently as he sets the horse off again.

“I used your magic,” she says. Her head hurts. Her body hurts. Everything hurts. She feels completely drained, and it hurts to even think. “Dorian said… He said it would be locked inside me. That I would merely store it. It would not be like the Anchor.”

“Dorian was clearly wrong,” Solas says. He sounds angry, but his kiss against her temple is all soft. “Vhenan, I am taking us to one of my encampments.”

She takes that in. “You were planning to do that since you decided to live in order to keep me safe. Is that the part I would not like and most certainly be angry with?”

“Part of it,” he says softly. He waits, but she merely sighs. 

“I will probably be angry with you when I’m not exhausted,” she says, leaning back against him. He rests his head on her shoulder, keeping his eyes on the horizon. She feels wind in her hair; she drifts in and out of a restless not-quite sleep as they move through the landscape. For how long, she has no idea. It must be hours. She is vaguely aware they cross through at least one Eluvian, meaning they cannot be followed by anyone from her camp. At one point, they stop and drink from a clear stream; it tastes wonderfully clear and cold and she notices at least one mountain she knows well enough. They eat some of the bread and dried fruits she brought as well; it feels like a feast.

They ride on. The sun moves across the sky lazily; it’s a warm day, and yet she still feels increasingly cold. Solas seems to notice that as well, whispering in Elvhen to the horse and somehow managing to urge it to move faster. She wonders if her body is reacting to using magic, or if this is simple exhaustion. Perhaps it’s a combination of both. Eventually, she feels herself being lifted off the horse, and into arms; Solas carrying her, she realizes. She opens her eyes enough to glance at him; the sunlight makes his freckles seem like light dust across his skin. 

He glances down at her, and his expression is all soft. “Vhenan.”

There must be a dozen elves standing around, she realizes. Solas doesn’t seem to care they all heard what he called her, and she can feel more than one stare at her; the former Inquisitor being lovingly carried by the Dread Wolf himself and being referred to as ‘vhenan’. 

She drifts off for a moment again and finds herself being lowered into a bed. It is his, she realizes after a moment, and he tucks blankets and furs around her before deciding that isn’t good enough. Gently, he eases into bed with her, holding her close and running his hands down her back until she stops trembling.

“Not how I imagined getting into bed with you,” she jokes weakly. 

“You will have time to tell me how you imagined it later,” he promises; she falls asleep to that.


	6. Part Five: An Interlude

Part Five: An Interlude

II

She sleeps. She wakes a couple of times; once to find herself curled against Solas while he smiles softly at her and runs his fingers through her hair, and once to find food and water set out for her that she greedily devours before drifting right back to sleep. Her dreams, few as they are, are disjointed and confused, but not unpleasant; she feels his presence every now and then, fleeting but comforting. 

She wakes a third time to find Solas sleeping too, one arm underneath her head and one hand at her hip. He has changed his clothes, but not into armor – a simple shirt, a simple pair of breeches. His face is relaxed and peaceful, and she takes time to memorize his expression and how it feels waking up in his arms. A pleasant memory to take with her; whatever happens, she will always have this. 

He has taken care of her while she slept, she realizes as she glances down at herself. Her clothes have been changed into something soft and linen, her wounds have been given another round of healing and have been reduced to faint red lines, and he has clearly washed her arms and legs as well as loosely braided her hair. 

Lovingly, she leans forward and kisses the scar on his brow, the ridge of his nose, the path of freckles across his face, his eyelids, the underside of his jaw, the edges of his mouth, and finally, his lips.

His lips part against hers, and she realizes he is awake – probably has been a while. He pulls her closer as she kisses him, leisurely exploring his mouth while his fingers trace the lines of her neck, her face, her ears. Every caress leaves her wanting more, wanting him. 

“Solas,” she whispers, and he opens his eyes to look at her. He searches her face, and swallows lightly as he takes in her expression. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice dipping a little as she turns her head slightly to kiss his wrist. 

“I am sure,” she says; she is. About this, she is certain. It is everything else that is dangerously uncertain. “There are no false pretenses now, as you said. I want to lie with you. Here. Now. Before we have to deal with everything else. I… I want the world to wait for just a little while. If you want it too.”

His eyes are bright with desire. “Vhenan, I have wanted to lie with you since you kissed me in the Fade. I only held back because I could not bear being physically intimate with you and not emotionally.”

Gently, she takes one of his hands and presses it to her chest. He can feel her heartbeats against his palm, she imagines. “You can be both now. Ar lath ma, Solas.”

He presses his forehead against hers, exhaling. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

He is smiling when he kisses her; passionately, hotly, but tenderly too, alternating between kissing her breath away, and reverently caressing her lips with his own. He keeps one hand pressed against her chest; the other makes slow circles across the skin of her hand. He seems content to take it slow, to savor every sensation, while she struggles to keep her impatience in check. (She struggled with that while hunting too, she remembers, wanting her prey sooner rather than later. In this case, her prey is the Dread Wolf himself, and the hunt – the hunt has lasted way too long.)

Eventually, she shifts them both, straddling him while he looks up at her with a faint smile on his lips. She lowers his head to kiss that smile right off him; she only succeeds in widening it before forgetting her mission entirely as his tongue slides against hers and she moans his name into his mouth. 

“Vhenan,” he whispers, breath ragged, kissing her again before she can answer. She manages to slip her hand underneath his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin against her palm. Slowly, she begins tracing circles, his skin smooth under her fingertips, and delights in how it feels. He does too, judging by the way he sighs happily into the kiss. 

It is not enough skin, though. She wants more. 

“Off,” she mutters.

“Off?”

“Shirt.”

“Ah,” he says, glancing down. She sees the flash of pain, regret and sadness across his face as he remembers why she’s asking – it is hard for her to undress him with only one hand. It is just a flash, and then he returns to the moment and smiles at her. “As you wish, vhenan. Anything you wish from me, you need only ask.” 

He lifts himself up, kissing her all the while until they are both upright; she still straddling him. She watches him when he pulls slightly back and pulls his shirt off, dropping it to the floor without a care. He says nothing as she takes him in, noting the curves of his muscles, his lithe Elvhen frame yet broad shoulders, his pale skin. He has a trail of faint freckles across his upper chest, she realizes, and a few faded scars along with one recent. They don’t mar his beauty, she finds – they are a part of it.

She kisses his freckles – all of them – and his scars, and every inch of exposed skin, just as she has imagined herself doing whenever she left herself fantasize about a scenario like this. What she couldn’t have imagined is just how good it feels – the sharp pleasure it gives her to feel him sigh happily at her touch, the overwhelming desire to touch more, feel more. 

His eyes are closed and his breath is sharp and ragged, she notices as she peeks up. He has balled his fists at his sides, looking like he’s itching to touch her – as she was. He is increasingly hard too; she can feel the bulge through his breeches, pressing a little against her as she moves. 

“Solas,” she says softly, and he opens his eyes. Slowly, she takes one of his hands in her, and leads it to the hem of her shirt. Gently, he helps to free her from it, and the undershirt after, never looking away. He has a way of looking at her as if he marvels at the sight of her, like now, and as always, it makes her breath catch a little. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says, sounding awed. Softly, he leans forward and kisses what remains of her arm, almost reverently, before making a slow, meticulous path of open-mouthed kisses up her shoulder, along her collarbone, up her neck before pausing to meet her gaze for a moment and tucking a strand of hair that has broken free from her braid behind her ear. 

Like her, he seems to find as much pleasure in touching and kissing her as she did him, judging by the look on his face. Tenderly, he cups her cheeks, undoubtedly feeling how flushed they are.

“Is this your first time, vhenan?” he asks softly. 

“Yes,” she answers truthfully. He considers that, not looking pleased nor displeased by it, just thoughtful. 

“It is my first time in a very long time,” he tells her, eyes distant for a moment; she wonders what he is thinking back to. “If we do anything that makes you uncomfortable or you don’t want, please, please tell me.”

She nods as he speaks. She knew that would matter to him; she knows him.

“I will,” she assures him, and he leans forward to kiss her while his fingers explore the curves of her breasts; she is soon arching into his touches and barely remaining upright. He seems to pick up on that, helping her lie down against the pillows and moving his mouth to her breasts, kissing and licking and it’s all she can do just to remember to breathe. 

She breathes, and breathes, and gradually, his mouth moves lower, pressing kisses across her abdomen, tracing her navel. He pauses as he reaches her breeches, gazing up at her. 

“Off?” he asks, voice hoarse. She can only nod, not quite trusting her voice. He takes his time removing them, kissing and caressing as he goes, occasionally pausing to gaze lovingly at her. When he has accomplished his task, he lowers his head between her legs, and she digs her fingers into the furs on his bed at the feel of it.

Oh. _Oh._ Ohohoh. This… She remembers Vivienne talking about this practice and advising her to always pick a lover willing to engage in it, but she didn’t really understand why at the time. She thinks she might be beginning to understand now. She had no idea anything could feel like this, pleasure like a slow tide, rising and rising.

He touches her too, with light fingers, carefully at first, but increasingly assertive. He is listening intently to her breathing and the noises she makes, she realizes, and is adjusting based on her responses. So very determined to make it good for her, so very determined to give her as much pleasure as possible. 

As much as possible seems to be an overwhelming amount, rising and rising until it is everything, and washes her away with it and claims her; she is pleasure, bright and hot, and nothing else. For how long, she doesn’t know. It’s a fleeting moment and an eternity at the same time, but slowly, she begins to feel her body again.

“Vhenan,” she hears next to her ear. Solas. She barely has the strength to lift her hand to his head; his scalp is very soft and smooth under her fingertips. She feels his hands move to her waist, shifting her onto her side, pressing her against him. He is completely naked now, she can tell right away – she can feel only skin against her own, and as he shifts slightly, she feels the soft hardness pressing against her thigh. 

“Vhenan?” he says again, a question this time. She knows what he’s asking.

“Yes,” she says, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. Yes. Oh yes. 

He presses his forehead against hers as he presses into her slowly, so very slowly, pausing every now and then and just holding still. It feels strange at first, an unfamiliar sensation, almost intrusive, but also deeply intimate. She can feel him – inside her, around her, against her – lover and love both now. 

“Solas,” she whispers lovingly, running her thumb along the shell of his ear. He sighs in pleasure, so she continues, tracing all the way to the tip of his ear, the sharp point feeling so very soft as she caresses it. It feels strangely thrilling to discover something that gives him pleasure; he must have felt likewise. In a way, she supposes it is like learning a language – a language between lowers, unique to every couple. They are going to have their own, him and her, and oh, oh, how she looks forward to becoming fluent in it. 

Her body is beginning to adjust to the sensation of him so deep inside her, she realizes. It no longer feels intrusive. It feels welcomed, desired even, as her legs seem to move on their own accord to draw him further in. He closes his eyes, lashes dark against his pale skin, murmuring something she can’t quite make out, face so very bright with pleasure. As he begins a series of slow thrusts, she feels pleasure too – sharp jolts of it every time he moves – and it’s good, becoming better than good. Becoming wonderful. His hands are making slow circles on her back, occasionally dipping lower, and his skin is warm against hers, so very warm.

She almost wishes the moment could last forever. It doesn’t, of course, but they manage to make it linger for quite a while, a wonderful while, until she closes her eyes and lets go. She is dimly aware of Solas gasping her name and burrowing his head into her shoulder as he lets go too.

After a few moments, he pulls a few blankets around them, cocooning them. She rests her head on his chest, slowly catching her breath. Her skin still seems to tingle with residual warmth, as if holding on to the memories of touches, caresses, kisses. She can feel a certain soreness as well – it is not unpleasant, especially when she considers why.

They rest in silence for a while, and she finds herself enjoying this too, the time after. It feels intimate, but in a different way. She can’t quite put to words why – it just does. 

“How do you feel?” he eventually asks softly, lacing strands of hair that have fallen loose back into her braid.

“Good,” she says. “Better than good, actually.”

She peeks up at him to see him looking quite, quite pleased with himself for a moment. It makes her smile, and she tilts her head up to kiss him lightly. 

“How do you feel?” she counters. She knows he found pleasure in being with her, that was hard not to notice, but the selfish part of her would like to hear him say. 

“Wonderful,” he tells her sincerely. “Vhenan, I could spend centuries delighting in just kissing you, to say nothing of everything else. ”

“You’re being unusually charming again,” she points out, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little, “and you have already gotten me into bed.”

“I have been called many things in my life,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head. “Only you have called me charming, and twice now. I am not sure you will be able to convince the Dalish to change their saying into ‘May the Dread Wolf charm you’.”

She cannot help the barking laugh that escapes her. “You did not just make that joke.”

“I believe I did.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, but cannot help smiling as well. He notices, and dips his head down to kiss her, a tease of a kiss that makes her groan softly.

“Would you prefer grim and fatalistic?” he murmurs. “Will that help me getting you into bed… again?”

“No,” she says, putting a finger against his lips, and his face falls. “Just being Solas will do that.”

“Now who’s being usually charming?” he counters, cupping her cheeks and looking at her as if she means the world to him. She can’t not kiss him for that, a kiss that becomes a series of kisses that becomes caresses and touches that becomes another go, and she discovers that first times, first times can be wonderful, but second times can be even _better_. 

II

Afterwards, she tells him about Vivienne’s advice and he pronounces it sage and right, and he tells her of the time Dorian and Iron Bull together tried to give him a lot of advice and she laughs in delight against his chest from beginning to end.

They are deliberately keeping the conversation light, she knows. They have so much they need to talk about, but neither wants to end this…. This interlude, this time just for them, this intimacy.

In the end, it is ended for them.

The elf that barges in is not one she recognizes – he is not Dalish and not someone she recognizes from the Inquisition, though he does remind her slightly of Abelas. He opens his mouth to speak, but only gets a few words out before halting mid-word, eyes wide and shocked as he takes in the scene in the room.

They make quite the scene, Lavellan is sure. She can well imagine how the elf feels about seeing their leader wearing a Dalish elf and a crumpled blanket and not much else; it’s written all over his face. 

“Um,” Lavellan says. “Aneth ara. Greetings.”

“Aneth ara,” the elf repeats slowly, clearly lost for what else to say. He is staring at the ground with great determination while also trying to stand to attention – it doesn’t quite work, but he makes a decent effort at it. “Fen’Harel?”

Solas sighs, wrapping a blanket around her and then himself. “Thevel. Speak.”

“Ir abelas,” Thevel says, lowering his eyes. “You wanted to know the moment the two Chantry agents returned. They just returned.” 

The two Chantry agents, she thinks. The agents that attacked her? 

She glances up at Solas, and the expression on his face tells her she has guessed correctly. He has gone deadly, deadly still, every muscle in his body suddenly tense. She can feel the hairs on her neck stand up as she looks at him. She knows that kind of stillness, oh, how she knows. It is the pause before the pounce, the predator stance just before the strike. It is the end of the hunt.

It is death coming.


	7. Part Six: Ellana and Her Wolf

Part Six: Ellana and Her Wolf

II

The first time she was taken on a hunt, she was still a child, Lavellan remembers. They had to learn early. They had to, if the clan was to survive. They may have had freedom (though she now wonders how free they truly were, bound by misunderstandings of the past), but they had few other luxuries. Hunting was a necessity. 

Her first hunt, she saw a wolf, tall and grey and looming, but without a pack. It did not attack them, merely watched, and she felt no fear, only curiosity. She asked. They told her without a pack, the wolf would surely die.

“We can be his pack,” she had offered, and the others had laughed.

“A wolf is no halla, child. You cannot make a companion of it,” one of the younger hunters had said, as if to point out that he, he was much smarter than her even if he was barely older and had no right to call her child. 

I can, she thought to herself. Later, noticing her mood and prying the story out of her, her Keeper told her that once, in the glory days of Halamshiral, there were elves who forged bonds with wolves, making companions of them. They would fight together, as one, and would always, always protect each other.

She listened with wide eyes, imagining it, promising herself that one day, one day she would be like the elves of old and claim a wolf companion, and they would protect each other always. Theirs would be an unbreakable bond. The others would marvel at it, perhaps even envy it a little. Ellana and her wolf, they would say, and no one would laugh. No one would dare. 

Such a child’s fantasy, she knows now. So simple. She was so young, and everything seemed simple then. 

Still. 

She did get her wolf companion - after a fashion.

II

Solas is gentle as he helps her dress, but not relaxed. She can feel the tension in him every time he touches her, even if the touches themselves are loving and tender. He even takes the time to kiss her when they’re both fully dressed, caressing her cheeks as he does. 

“Vhenan,” he says, and his voice makes her shiver a little. “I told you that I would do what I must to keep you safe.”

“I remember,” she says, swallowing. As she would him, she reminds herself. She did just whisk him away from Cassandra to protect him, leaving all of her friends in the process. 

“Two of my agents harmed you,” he says, and the anger cannot mask the guilt also in his voice. “They were under explicit orders not to. I must make my displeasure clear. Deliberately harming you must be seen as the unforgiveable offense to me that it is. It will help discourage anyone who might consider similar actions towards you. Do you understand, vhenan?” 

Her first instinct is to say no, but she knows that is a lie. She has killed to protect. She has seen others kill to protect her. She has allowed assassinations to protect the world, to protect her clan, telling herself if was for the greater good. Oh, she understands more than she likes to admit. 

It's also not just about her life, as Cassandra would probably remind her. If she dies… If she dies, Solas will lose his heart. He is already burdened with so much grief and guilt that she cannot imagine what her death would do to him – or perhaps she simply doesn’t want to. It would also mean she would have no opportunity to change his mind, to make him see the worth of this world, and if her death also meant his magic returned to him… 

She closes her eyes; he kisses her eyelids very softly. “I understand it. I don’t like it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he says. He sighs. “If am… lenient, it puts you at greater risk. They may also spread the word to others that you hold my magic. That would also put you at greater risk.”

She swallows. “You can hear them out. Perhaps there is a way to…. Seem unforgiving but be merciful.”

“Ellana…”

“Please,” she says, opening her eyes to look at him. “Just…. Please consider it.”

He meets her gaze, eyes like steel, but there is something soft there too – the softness that always seems there when he looks at her, that was there even in the early days in Haven. 

“They will be allowed to explain themselves,” he finally says, and she exhales. “Beyond that…. I must keep you safe, vhenan. Losing you would…” 

He trails off. Perhaps he too, doesn’t want to imagine it. Instead, he kisses her again, desperately this time, lifting her up to deepen it even further. The intensity of it is a reminder what she means to him, though in a different way than his earlier gentleness. This is love too; this fierce determination to protect her, the unwillingness to lose her. 

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispers, gently easing her down on her feet again. “Come.”

Thevel is waiting for them outside. “They are waiting to report to me. As instructed, they have not been informed of your presence.”

Solas nods. He takes her hand as they walk, and keeps holding it as they walk past various members of this particular camp. They all notice, she is pretty sure, as she suspects Solas wants them to. Perhaps he thinks not hiding his affection for her will help keep her safe. 

The two agents who attacked her are just outside the camp itself, not so much kept under watch as kept a discreet eye on by a few sentinels. They look nervous, as if they realize something isn’t quite right, but they clearly don’t know what. 

The moment they do see her, and Solas, they freeze. One of them fall instantly to his knees, the other, the one who attacked her first, looks as if he’s considering fleeing. Thevel shifts his bow slightly, as if to make it clear what will happen if he tries, and he falls to his knees as well.

“Julianus. Pace,” Solas says, voice quiet and angry. He lets go of her hand, putting both hands behind his back instead, a posture she recognizes all too well. “I believe you have met Ellana Lavellan.”

They stare at her, horrified, and she feels a strange mixture of pity and anger. They did nearly kill her, she has not forgotten that. Yet, they seem rather pitiful like this, on their knees, eyes wide with fear. 

“Explain,” Solas orders. “Julianus.”

Julianus swallows. He’s the man who shot her, she remembers. “Lord Fen’Harel. As ordered, we infiltrated the Chantry and kept a low profile, ready to act on your command. A few days ago, we were ordered to accompany the Divine on a journey to a former Inquisition camp. It was only then we learned you had been captured, my lord. We were at once determined to free you.”

“She captured you!” Pace interrupts, pointing a finger at her. “The whole camp was talking about it. She is your enemy as much as the Qunari, the Tevinter, the Chantry! She should be on her knees, begging for your mercy, not us!”

“She is my heart,” Solas says, voice softening for just a moment before becoming all steel again. “She may not agree with my cause, but she was never my enemy and never will be.” 

They both stare at her, as if they can’t quite believe it, can’t quite fathom the Dread Wolf surrendering his heart. Thevel gives her a thoughtful glance as well, though more subtly. 

“We didn’t know!” Julianus gasps. “How could we?”

“You knew my orders,” Solas says. He doesn’t need his armor to look every inch a general now. “The Inquisitor and the Inquisition was to be left alone, engaged only as a last resort, and if engaged, deaths were not acceptable. Especially the Inquisitor’s death. Even if you did not know why, you knew my orders.”

“Under the circumstances…” Pace tries, and falters as Solas looks at him. “Does she matter more than restoring your world?!” 

Solas closes his eyes for a moment. Does she, she wonders. She is his heart, yes, but is she stronger than his sense of duty? 

“She would let the Chantry execute you!” Pace goes on, as if encouraged by the lack of answer. “The Divine had already begun to make plans for it.”

“Lady Ellana personally freed Fen’Harel from the Chantry forces,” Thevel says softly, and Ellana glances at him in surprise. He inclines his head, as if offering her respect. “At great personal risk.”

Both men look confused. She can understand that. Capturing Solas to then free him again does sound rather confusing, and she isn’t sure she could even explain it to them in a way that makes sense. 

“We only tried to serve your cause…” Pace says, but Solas shakes his head.

“You care not for the Elvhen,” he says. “You believed tearing down the Veil would grant you greater magic, greater power, and a greater life. I knew that when I recruited you. It mattered not to me, as I had use of you, but I was never blind to your ambition.”

“I care!” Julianus cries out. “My wife and children would have a world that respected them, a world that would be theirs.”

Oh. She thinks. He has married an elf? He has children? In secret, she guesses, judging by how taken aback Pace seems. 

Solas regards him for a moment, then nods. “You are right. You do care. Ir abelas. I should not have spoken as if you two were one.”

“I only fought Lady Ellana because Pace did, my lord,” Julianus goes on, staring at her imploringly. “I did not know why he had attacked. I did not even know it was the Inquisitor he had attacked until later. I… I am truly sorry.”

Pace glares at him, then at her, then at Solas. She can see him lick his lips, see the mounting desperation in his face, like a prey caught by a predator. She can feel… She can feel the magic even before the spell forms, and she knows, just knows it is meant for Solas.

No, she thinks, her body drumming with it. She lifts her hand, willing it to be a shield, be protection, and lights begins to stream out from it. Blinding, blinding light, stronger than iron. 

“Vhenan…”

She hears Solas call out, strangely distant. She almost feels as if she is in two places at once – her body still in Thedas, but her mind in another world, one she can shape. It feels like the Fade, only she isn’t dreaming.

She feels the spell hit her shield, feels the anger and rage of it, feels the will to kill in it. She won’t let it kill. She won’t let it harm. She protects. In her world, the wolf lives.

The spell bounces back. She hears the scream as it hits, as it tears into Pace, and for a moment, she feels nothing at all. 

The magic quiets, and the strange sense of being two places at once fades. Instead, she feels sick, and she falls to her knees, emptying her stomach. Seconds later, Solas is there, kneeling down by her and gently rubbing her back. 

“Get some water,” she hears him say to Thevel. “Vhenan, are you all right?”

“No,” she says. Her mouth tastes like bile. “He was trying to kill you.”

“Yes,” Solas says, kissing her temple. “He seems to have greatly enhanced his abilities since I recruited him. Lyrium, or red lyrium, perhaps.”

“That would explain the penchant for violence,” she mutters. She breathes, then forces herself to stand up, Solas supporting her. His eyes are worried, she notices, though his voice is light.

“You are becoming quite the mage, my love,” he says, guiding her a few feet away. “We’re going to have to have a long talk with Dorian about that.”

“It wasn’t supposed to work like this,” she says, and Solas smiles softly.

“And you weren’t supposed to survive being sent physically through the Fade. You weren’t supposed to be able to hold and use the Anchor,” he says, cupping her cheek. “You and Dorian forgot one thing when you made your plans, just as I forgot when I made mine. We all forgot that you, you change everything. How can anyone plan for what you are?”

“Lady Ellana,” Thevel says, and she sees him holding out a pitcher of water. She takes a few sips, glancing over to see Julianus still kneeling, eyes downcast.

“Solas,” she says, and Solas sighs as he notices her gaze. “He didn’t attack me first. He has a family. Please.”

“I will let him live,” he says, nodding at Thevel, giving some sort of wordless order. “We will find a suitable task for him to serve as penance for joining in on the attack. What occurred should be more than ample deterrent for anyone considering attacking you – or me, for that matter.”

Her gaze slides towards where Pace was, but Solas stops her, gently framing her head in his hands and making him look at him instead. “You protected me, vhenan.”

A wolf is no halla, she thinks painfully, remembering – but she chose him. She chose him before she knew who he was, and she chose him again fully knowing. It will never be simple, but she has made her choice, and she will protect him. (Even from himself.)

“I chose you,” she says, and feels tears prick her eyes. “Ma fen. My wolf.”

“Ma vhenan,” he replies, pressing his forehead against hers and embracing her; Ellana and her wolf, and no one is laughing.


	8. Part Seven: Course of Action

Part Seven: Course of Action

II

“What did you plan to do next, vhenan?”

The question catches her entirely off guard. They have just eaten – or more accurately, Solas has insisted on her eating and has spent a long time coaxing more and more food into her, claiming she needs her strength back, which is true, but still. They have returned to privacy back in his chambers, with only Thevel interrupting once to hand over a stack of new clothes for her – which includes a wide variety of everything to exquisite gowns to leather armor to shirt and breeches, making her suspect some poor elf was given the task of getting her new clothes, and with no idea as to what she likes, got a bit of everything to make sure not to offend. 

“Hmm?” she says, swallowing the last piece of fruit. Solas is thoughtful, and a bit distant, and she wonders what he is thinking of.

“If I lived, and you succeeded in capturing my magic, what had you planned to do afterwards, if Cassandra had not gotten involved?”

“Ah,” she says. “I suppose I would have taken you with me to a secluded cottage somewhere and kept you with me until I convinced you there was another way to help our people, and I was truly convinced you were convinced.”

“Ah,” he says lightly. “And if that took years? Decades?”

“Oh, I would entertain myself with you in bed,” she replies, equally light. “I had great plans for that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Truly? You should tell me more of these plans someday.”

She taps a finger against his lips and watches him watch her through slightly lowered eyelids. “Would it not be better to demonstrate them rather than simply tell?” 

“You make an excellent point,” he says. He moves so quick that in one moment, she is tilting her head at him, and in the next, she is on his lap, her chest pressed against his, and being kissed as if she is water, and he is parched. He nips at her lips, he licks his way into her mouth, he tastes her greedily and meticulously, no inch of her mouth escaping his attention. 

They’re both breathing hard when he finally relents, breaking the kiss with a soft groan. He doesn’t stop touching her, though, his fingers caressing her neck and shoulders, wherever he can find naked skin to brush against. He seems to draw comfort from it, but there is something troubling him, she can tell.

“What is troubling you, Solas?” she asks softly.

“Too many things,” he says. He lowers his head slightly, and she kisses his head gently, waiting. “Your ability to use my magic for one. You use it as if you have not only taken my ability to use magic, but my knowledge of how to use it as well. You were able to use the Anchor as well, but it would have killed you, vhenan. This may too.”

“It may not,” she says, but she feels herself shivering slightly at the thought. She remembers the pain of the Anchor in those last days.

“It may not,” he agrees. “But I cannot risk you on mere hope.”

“You’re already thinking about how to reclaim it from me,” she says, and she feels herself shivering again. Gently, he presses a kiss against her collarbone and his silence is confirmation enough. He did warn her that would be the case, she remembers. He has not lied to her. She has to remember that. If he ever succeeds, she has to remember he didn’t lie. 

“What else?” she asks. 

“What I must do to remove the Veil,” he says, his voice clipped, and she knows he won’t tell her how he plans to do that. Not yet, at least. 

“What else?” she continues. 

“You,” he says, lifting his head to look at her. “My love. My heart. My desire. My impossible dilemma. I am not certain what is the best course of action with you. Selfishly, I wish to keep you close. I cannot bear the thought of parting from you again. There are less selfish reasons as well. Until I regain my magic, it is wise to keep you nearby. I must also keep you safe – keeping you close may allow me to protect you, but it may also endanger you later. Your friends may become determined to free you.”

“I am not a prisoner,” she protests. 

“I did abduct you,” he points out. She makes a noise of disapproval.

“You did not such thing. I ran off with you,” she corrects.

“I stand corrected,” he says, kissing her lightly. “However, even if your friends agree with your viewpoint, there are others. There is also the danger of you. You make a formidable opponent, vhenan. If I keep you close, you will find ways to discern my plans and disrupt them. Especially since you still hold most of my magic.”

“I may also help you find another way,” she points out, and he looks wistful for a moment. He wants that, she knows. He has resigned himself to what he thinks he must do, but he has no desire for it. 

She will save him, she thinks with determination, and the world with it. She will. She has to. 

He is looking at her, brushing his thumb across her cheek as he takes in her reaction. 

“Are you disappointed?” he asks in a low voice, “that I have not given up on my duty? I still wish to tear down the Veil.”

She hears her breath catch a little. She did not expect him to ask, at least not so soon. He has been holding back from her for so long that this sudden need for honesty between them feels strange. He looks down, as if taking her reaction as disappointment when it is simple surprise.

Is she disappointed? She runs it over in her mind. She has to be honest with him, she knows. They love each other, but love can be twisted and lost without honesty. It nearly happened to them with all he kept from her. She cannot do the same.

“Yes,” she says. “And no.”

“Yes and no?” he repeats, sounding confused.

“Disappointed that you will not seriously consider another solution, yes. Disappointed that you wish to rectify what you believe is wrong? No. I understand your sense of duty, your dedication to what you think is right,” she says, and he looks up, eyes a little lost. It makes her heart ache. “We just disagree on how. I… I too want a better world for our people, Solas. I am not willing to sacrifice this world to achieve that, but I am determined to change this world to achieve that.”

He leans into her, pressing his head against her shoulder, and she holds him. He needs this, she realizes. He needs someone to understand his reasons even if not agreeing with his actions. He may be close to a god, but he is also lonely, having lost a world that knew him as he was, a world that understood him. 

He longs to be known as something other than a curse, to be understood, to be accepted. He has spent the years since he woke up becoming what he feels he needs to be, but all through, he has been alone. Even with her during the days of the Inquisition, he wasn’t entirely with her. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs into her skin. He kisses her neck, slowly making his way up to her ear. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” she says, and hears his slow exhale before he kisses her ear reverently.

“I know,” he says, sounding slightly awed by it and saddened by it at the same time. “I wish… I wish I could offer you something better. You should be loved by someone who could offer you a certain future. You deserve courtship. You deserve happiness. You deserve commitment.”

“And you don’t?” she asks, torn between anger and sadness at how little he thinks of himself. 

“No,” he says simply. “But I am touched you think otherwise, vhenan. You think far more of me than I deserve.”

“You do the same,” she argues, and he looks taken aback. “You think the world of me when all my life, I have been nothing out of the ordinary. To many humans, I was just another elf to be overlooked. To my clan, I was another hunter – a good hunter, if somewhat impatient, but another hunter. Another elf. Another Lavellan. That was me. But to you…”

“You are extraordinary,” he breathes, kissing her as if to make the point. “In another world… Oh, vhenan, in another world, I would have courted you as you deserve.”

“You still have this world,” she reminds him. “Perhaps you cannot give me what you feel I deserve, but however uncertain our future may be, I want what we can have now, Solas.”

She can see him consider that, furrowing his brow slightly as he thinks. She kisses the bridge of his nose, putting her hand on his neck and caressing it lightly. She lets him make his mind up, and sees him straighten as he does. 

“You will have all I can give in this world,” he promises, as if making a vow. “I am going to be selfish. I will keep you close. I do not know if it is the best course of action, but it seems that it is the only one my heart is into.”

“Good,” she says. “It was the only course of action I was prepared to accept. I ran off with you. I have no intention of leaving your side.” 

“Ah,” he murmurs, smiling faintly and moving his hands to her shoulders and looking at her in a way that makes her breath catch. “Are you sore, vhenan?”

She swallows. “A little. Not uncomfortably so.”

“Good,” he says, his mouth returning to his ear; she practically whimpers his name at the feel of it. She is so intent on how it feels that she is barely aware of his hands managing to pull her shirt down, letting it pool at her waist. She is very aware of the way his fingers begin to caress her breasts, though, arching against him.

He doesn’t take it slow this time – quite the opposite. His kisses and touches soon have her writhing in his lap, and when he thrusts into her, it’s hard and fast and he only picks up his pace from there. It is a different kind of wonderful than their slow and tender first go; it is frantic and passionate and has her lose it twice before he’s satisfied enough to let go himself.

They curl up together afterwards, both breathless and sweaty. She is beginning to see he will make a very intense lover. It should perhaps not surprise her – she has seen his dedication and focus. The Fade. His magic. His paintings. Even his plan to restore the world of the Elves. They all speak to his dedication, to ability to focus on a task. He just always held back with her, for reasons she now understands, but it meant she hasn’t had much experience being… Well, being the task focused on.

It is rather intoxicating, she has to admit. Sex solves none of their problems, of course, but at least it makes for wonderful distractions. (Plural, given his appetite so far.)

“I think we should take a trip,” he says suddenly. She glances up at him, brushing a light kiss against his jaw and gauging his expression. He looks as if he’s making plans, and she’s pretty sure of that plural. He is planning more than a trip. 

“Where to?” she asks, imagining Elvhen ruins or ancient mage towers. 

“Wycome,” he says, and she stares at him in surprise. “I wish to ensure that your clan will be in a position to protect you, should I perish.”

“Solas…” she begins to protest, and he smiles faintly.

“I am not resigning myself to death, vhenan. I wish to live. I wish to live with you for however long it is possible. I will not forsake my duty to restore the world of the Elves. Nor will I forsake my promise to protect you for as long as I am able. If there is a way we can have a life after – after I fulfill my duty – I want that. But I must plan for the worst even if I dare hope for the impossible.”

Dare hope, she thinks. His words make her want to cry, but when he walked away from her at the Crossroads, he rejected even the hope of another solution. Now, he has at least accepted that there may be hope. It might be a little thing, but it feels like progress.

“Wycome then,” she agrees lightly. “Do you know much of clan Lavellan?”

“Pretend I don’t and tell me about them,” he murmurs, kissing her temple, so she does. He listens intently to every word and makes an effort to seem genuinely interested and curious; it makes her certain he is planning more than just ensuring her clan is in a position to protect her - but what?


	9. Part Eight: Fade Agreements

Part Eight: Fade Agreements

II

They take to the Fade that evening. Solas is determined to talk to Dorian, and truth be told, she has a few things she has been mulling over that she wants to discuss as well. 

Solas still walks the Fade as if everything in it is as natural as the real world, or perhaps more so. Now that she truly knows him, she knows why that is, but it is still something to behold – how easily he navigates it, how effortlessly he shapes it, how calmly he regards it. Yet, for all his familiarity, he never treats it as boring or mundane, and she can sense his quiet enjoyment of every moment.

She could happily spend a lifetime exploring the Fade with him for that, and that’s not even considering her own curiosity and desire to see all it holds. Oh, to have a lifetime… 

Solas takes her hand at that, and she realizes the Fade has reacted to her wish, shaping into a vision of endless paths being walked, each leading to something – a ruin, a library, a gathering of spirits, a quiet pool. They both watch it for a moment, neither speaking, but he squeezes her hand lightly in comfort and understanding. He would probably enjoy a lifetime of that too, she thinks – knowing him, he’d probably enjoy an age of it.

He keeps her hand in his as they move, soon locating Dorian – who is having a rather pleasant memory of pleasant fantasy, as it turns out; himself and Iron Bull in a steamed bath, at it in a position that makes Ellana quickly avert her eyes, blushing, and makes Solas raise his eyebrow. 

“Um,” she says. When that doesn’t work, she clears her throat. “Dorian?” 

The bath vanishes. Iron Bull vanishes. What remains is a flustered Dorian in a study, wearing his grandest robes, trying very hard to look every inch impressive Tevinter mage. 

“Ellana!” he says, giving her his best delighted smile. “It is always a delight to see you. Solas. It is, as always, alarming to see your sense of fashion has still not improved. Apostate hobo still?”

“Would you prefer Fen’Harel?” Solas says, tilting his head. Moments later, he is dressed in armor and wolf skin, not dissimilar to how he looked in the Crossroads when she found him there. “Or perhaps Elvhen?”

His outfit changes again, to something exquisite and so fine it would turn heads even in Tevinter. The material seems to shimmer, and it isn’t something she can immediately recognize. It reminds her of silk, but isn’t quite – it is sturdier yet still smooth, with gold and grey woven into it in patterns she can’t recognize. Looking down herself, she realizes he’s changed her outfit into something similar, though with dark and silver instead. 

“An improvement,” Dorian says casually, though he does look vaguely impressed. “But far too restrained. Where is your sense of flair, of drama? How about…?”

Solas in black Tevinter robes and an outrageous headgear, she thinks dimly. There is a sight she never thought she’d see. Dorian has dressed her in something matching, though even more dramatic and so tight she can barely breathe.

“No,” she cuts in, before Solas can reply or retaliate. This isn’t about fashion, she knows, but that doesn’t mean she’s in the mood for continuous change of clothes while her friend and her lover engage in veiled show-offs for the purpose of... Demonstrating they can both affect the Fade? Having a battle of wills? “No more Fade dick measuring contest.” 

Solas immediately inclines his head. “Ir abelas, vhenan.”

“Sorry,” Dorian says lightly. She gives them both a pointed look, then focuses and imagines – she can feel the Fade change around them, becoming her room in Skyhold, with Solas and Dorian both dressed as they would back then. 

Dorian looks at her, eyes widening as he realizes she is the one changing the Fade. “Ellana?”

“She isn’t just holding my magic,” Solas says. His voice is calm, but there is a slight tension in it too.

“I can cast spells,” she says. “I just… I know them somehow, at least if Solas knows them.”

“That’s not possible,” Dorian says, looking stunned. “I made certain…”

“Clearly not certain enough,” Solas says. “I know you have a way to reverse the spell. You wouldn’t create such a spell without a way to reverse it. I will not ask you to do so now, but if it becomes like the Anchor – if it starts killing her – I will not ask.”

“You won’t need to,” Dorian says softly, and they look at each other before both nod. She supposes that means they’ve reached some sort of understanding – neither wants to let her die. That, they do agree on. They probably won’t give her much choice in the matter, she knows – Solas warned her as much when he told her he would keep her safe. 

She wants to yell at them for that. She is also well aware if it came to saving their lives – her beloved and her dear friend – she wouldn’t give them a choice either. It is doubly infuriating not to be able to be angry because it would be hypocritical, she finds. 

“There is more,” she says instead of yelling at them both. “I was able to return a portion of his magic to Solas. It seems I am able to transfer the magic I hold as well.”

Dorian doesn’t look surprised at that particular statement, she notices. Which means she was right in wondering if that part may have been on purpose. 

“You designed the spell to be able to do that,” she says. “Why?”

“To pass it on to him,” Solas says. He doesn’t look surprised either – he must have realized the possibility early on. That is why he knew to ask her to return enough of it to him to let him heal her. 

“Only if it became absolutely necessary,” Dorian says. He sighs, sitting down in one of her chairs. “You love him, my sweet. If it became necessary to do something…. Drastic, I wanted to spare you having to do it. I didn’t want to upset you at the time, so I didn’t tell you. You were…. You were so fatalistic and resigned to death I didn’t want you to feel any worse.”

He lied, she thinks. He was the only one she dared trust with her whole plan, and he didn’t trust her with his. That hurts – no matter his good intensions. 

She sinks down on her bed, closing her eyes. She can feel Solas sit down next to her, putting a hand on her neck, caressing her skin softly. He says nothing, but his nearness is comforting, and she leans into him.

“I am sorry, Ellana,” Dorian says after a few moments. She nods numbly. He sounds sincere about that, and he is hardly the only one who has lied to her. She will forgive him; she forgave the others, Solas included. It will just hurt for a while, is all. It always does. 

“Okay,” she says after a while, opening her eyes again. “I am going to be angry about this for a while.”

“Okay,” Dorian says. He meets her gaze, smiling hesitantly at her. After a moment, she gives him a hesitant smile back. “Do you want me to take any messages to Cassandra or Leliana or any of the others?”

“Tell them all that I am well,” she says. She glances over at Solas, his eyes loving as he meets her gaze. “I am not held against my will, but I will not be returning for the foreseeable future. Tell them that.” 

“They probably won’t be satisfied with that,” Dorian points out. “I will tell them, though.”

“Thank you,” she says. She feels a momentary pang of longing – she misses her friends, she misses this place, she misses the sense of unity. Everything felt complicated and overwhelming then, but compared to now, it seems simple. 

“Would you take a message from me too?” Solas asks, managing to sound almost polite about it. Almost. There is still a hint of pride in there, but then, he is Solas. 

“As you wish,” Dorian says, standing up. “I should start charging for Fade messages. I may make a fortune.”

“Tell them I will keep her safe,” Solas says simply, “and _wake up_.”

Dorian opens his mouth, but vanishes a heartbeat later, unable to resist the command, leaving only her and Solas in the room. 

“That was most impolite,” she points out, but he doesn’t look chagrined. “Also more Fade dick measuring contest, which I believe I explicitly told you to knock off.”

Instead of apologizing, his mouth finds hers in a hot and insistent kiss, and oh yes, with Fade tongue. With very much Fade tongue. Not that she’s complaining; quite the opposite. She clings to him, digging her fingers into his sweater. His fingers have shifted upwards, lightly touching her ears; the combined sensations of his kiss and light caresses soon makes her head spin slightly, as if she has been tasting too much wine when really, she’s tasting Solas and too much is not a thing. 

She’s vaguely aware that they’re becoming less and less upright, that they’re tipping slowly into her bed. She locks her legs around his waist as he presses her into the pillows, enjoying the weight of him. 

“Vhenan,” he murmurs seductively. “Did you imagine this? You and me, in your bed here?”

“Mm,” she breathes. “I imagined a lot of things.”

“Tell me,” he encourages, kissing her earlobe, and she curls her toes in delight.

“Unfair,” she protests.

“Unfair?”

“To expect me to talk while you’re being distracting,” she manages to say. His fingers seem to have found their way inside her shirt, caressing her sides.

“Unfair,” he acknowledges, “but far more delightful.”

As if to stress the point, he sucks lightly on the most sensitive spot of her ear, making it even more unfair – and far more delightful. She can hear her own breathing catch

“Tell me,” he says again, his breath caressing her ear. “Please, vhenan.”

This isn’t just seductive talk or flirting, she realizes. It matters to him for some reason, to hear what she imagined and fantasized about with him. 

So she tells him. In a breathless voice that catches whenever his mouth moves to another sensitive spot, as he never stops kissing her skin, never stops caressing her, she tells him about imagined scenarios in her chambers, in the rotunda, at the balcony, in the library, and even one in the armory. She expands beyond Skyhold too, telling him about a different sort of dance she imagined at the Winter Palace, of moments she imagined between them in the wild, even what she wanted to have happened at the cove in Crestwood, had he not walked away. 

He lets out a slightly pained exhale at the last one, lifting his head to give her a soft, apologetic kiss before smiling at her.

“Good,” he says. “All good. Which one would you like to begin with?”

“Begin with?” she repeats. His fingers are making it very hard to focus on thinking.

“Here,” he says patiently. “This is the Fade, my love. Everything you imagined, anything you want, we can do here. We will do here. Not all at once, of course. When we want. When you want.”

Her cheeks flush. He is suggesting spending nights in the Fade fulfilling her every fantasy and every want – no, not suggesting. Declaring. He does that. One of the first times she was certain he was flirting with her was when he didn’t suggest she was graceful – he declared it. 

Courtship, she thinks. This is a belated courtship, Solas’ style – he is after all an expert on the Fade, so it makes sense he would use it to give her what he believes she deserves. He promised her all he could give her in this world, after all. 

“Yours too,” she says, kissing him softly. “Everything you imagined, anything you want. I won’t have it any other way, Solas.”

He looks touched, but also strangely hesitant. “Vhenan, sometimes I imagined… I imagined you with me at the time of Elvhenan. Would you be comfortable with that?”

She considers that. “I don’t know. Perhaps if you tell me more of it, though I may have to try to find out. I think… Before our first time, you asked me to tell you if anything made me uncomfortable or if I didn’t want something, and I agreed. Let us make that an agreement for both of us, for every time we are together, be it outside the Fade or here in the Fade.”

He nods slowly. “Agreed. I… I find no enjoyment in forcing any act of intimacy. I only desire what is freely given.”

“I understand,” she tells him, kissing him again. Fen’Harel broke the chains of those who followed him, he told her once, and she has seen his disdain for slavery often enough. “Tell me of your desires, Solas. What have you imagined with us?”

He does. Slowly, slightly hesitant at first, but with increasing certainty, he tells her of imagined times and fantasies. Some are quite different to hers, featuring Arlathan or Elvhenan places she hasn’t even heard of, or a Fade without the Veil. Others are akin to hers, set at various places in Skyhold like her chambers or the rotunda, though the details vary and his include a rather indecent use of the throne in the throne room. He too, has imagined a more intimate time at the Winter Palace, and his voice goes very soft and very sad as he tells her what he truly wanted at the cove in Crestwood and what he had actually planned – to tell her the truth of what he was and then lie with her there, a commitment of heart and body alike.

She only realizes she is crying when he kisses her tears. “Ir abelas, vhenan. Should I not have told you?”

“I am glad you did,” she tells him, and means it. “We should lot let anything be unspoken between us for the fear of the pain it may cause. Not being honest – not trusting each other – will cause far greater pain in time.”

“You are right,” he says softly. “You always showed great wisdom and an understanding of the world, of people, that drew me to you.” 

“Even though I knew very little of the Elvhen?” she asks.

“Knowledge and wisdom are not the same,” he says, pressing a light kiss against her nose. “Knowledge can be learned. Wisdom cannot be imparted. You are curious and seek knowledge, yes, but wisdom you already had long before we met.”

“Sweet talker,” she teases after a moment, kissing him; he responds eagerly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and taste her soft moans of his name as his fingers caress her breasts. 

“All this still leaves one question,” he points out, voice breathless and low. “Which one should we begin with?”

Instead of replying, she focuses and feels the Fade respond, changing around them, her room becoming the rotunda, the bed becoming a sheet-covered chaise lounge. 

“Wise choice,” he murmurs, dipping his head down to kiss her neck; he ends up ravishing her on the longue twice, once as she imagined and once as he did, while the third go up in the rafters she has no idea where came from except getting carried away in the moment.

All in all, as belated courtships go, fade sex might be unconventional and deliciously indecent – but Lavellan decides she is all for it.


	10. Part Nine: Ma vhenas, ma vhenan (My home, my heart)

Part Nine: Ma vhenas, ma vhenan (My home, my heart)

II

Home. To the Dalish, home is rarely a place, given their nomadic nature. When others in the Inquisition would talk of their villages, their houses, their cities, their farms, Ellana would nod politely, but to be honest, she never quite understood how a place could be a home. It seemed a strange notion. Yes, her clan would sometimes make camp for longer periods of time, and she would grow used to the scenery, but it always felt like a place to stay, not a home. 

Home was her clan. Home was the sound of aravels moving, the smell of the Halla, the path ahead and the path behind. Home was evenings listening to the Keeper’s tales, the stars distant above them. Home was the chatter of the camp as she walked through it, and the smiles of fellow hunters as they took down their prey. Home. Somehow, she always imagined returning to them, even forming the Inquisition, even after the events at the Crossroads.

Now, here she is, glancing down into the valley where her clan has made camp, and she feels… Odd. The aravels brings back memories of travels. The sight of the Halla makes her remember the taste of milk and cheese. The sounds of her clan is the familiar background sound of what was once her life. It’s all familiar, all as remembered, and yet she still feels a strange sort of distance from it all. 

Solas is standing next to her, quiet and pensive. Every now and then, she can feel his attention shift to her, but he says nothing. He has dressed a touch more grandly than he would as Solas, apostate mage, but not extravagantly. Just how she’s going to explain him to her clan, she has no idea. ‘Aneth ara, turns out being taken by the Dread Wolf is rather wonderful’ might not go down too well. 

She exhales, pushing her complicated emotions to the back of her mind. She can unpack that later. They’ve spent several days getting here even using the eluvians, and staring wordlessly down at her clan will accomplish nothing.

“Behold clan Lavellan,” she says, trying to keep her voice light.

“Your clan,” Solas says softly. “I am glad you were able to protect them, vhenan.”

She swallows at the unexpected sincerity in his voice. Sometimes she wonders how it would have felt if she had made a wrong call – any wrong call – and her clan would have perished as a result. All her decisions as Inquisitor always felt like walking on a knife’s edge – one slip, and it would cut into her. She saved her clan, but other times, she did stumble, and it did cut. Or perhaps there were times where balance was simply impossible, and it was just a matter of where it would cut. 

“Thank you,” she says, taking his hand. 

He kisses her fingers lightly. “I know I have spoken harshly of the Dalish in the past, but I have never wished them ill. Wished they had greater understanding, greater wisdom, yes. I would never wish a Dalish clan slaughtered in a political gambit by humans with more ambition than empathy even if they were not your clan. As they are their clan, I wish it even less.”

There is a slightly odd tone to his voice that it takes her a moment to realize is grief.

“Does it hurt?” she asks softly. “To behold the Dalish?”

For a moment, he keeps the polite mask she knows so very well. Then he sighs, and his eyes almost seem to dim. He pulls her into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist, clinging to her.

“Yes,” he whispers, his voice laced with grief. “It is as if… As if seeing again a fresco that you admired and treasured, only you are seeing again it centuries later – the original has faded, and the attempt at repainting it has it all wrong. Wrong perspective, wrong colors, wrong motive. It is hard for me to remember Elvhenan and see the Dalish and the alienages. It is… It is a reminder of what is lost.”

“I am sorry,” she says, pressing her forehead against his. “Solas, I am so sorry.”

He draws a shuddering breath, and she kisses him, light and comforting. She can feel him breathe, his chest rising and falling against hers as he presses her even closer, kissing her back with barely restrained desperation. She has caught glimpses of his grief before, but only glimpses, and contained at that. This, this is him willingly letting her see part of his pain and grief, and she is glad of it, even as she hurts with him. 

He closes his eyes for a moment as he pulls back, and she presses light kisses against his face. 

“The loss is not the fault of the Dalish,” he says, sounding distant. “The fault is mine.”

“Solas,” she says, and he opens his eyes to look at her. The pain in his eyes nearly staggers her. “You did not intend this.”

“I still caused it,” he says, and his smile is infinitely sad. “I wanted a better future for Elvhenan.”

“We will find a way to make one,” she insists. “Together.”

His smile turns slightly wistful. He hopes, she knows, but he doesn’t quite believe or trust in it. Not yet, at least. She will make him see the possibility of a better future without the end of this world. She will. 

“Vhenan,” he says, his voice a caress. He kisses her tenderly, and when he pulls back again, his face is composed and his pain is masked. “Your clan awaits.”

“Yes,” she says, glancing down at her clan and fighting back the nerves. 

They descend into the valley together. She can feel stares as they draw closer – at him, at her, at her bare face with no trace of a vallaslin. There are whispers too, occasionally rising to exclamations. She tries to smile at familiar faces, but her smile feels slightly stiff.

There is a gathering crowd not too far in front, she realizes, Keeper Istimaethoriel at the head. The First is there too, and several prominent hunters. A welcoming committee of sorts, she supposes, though there is a slight tension in the air. Behind them, the rest of the clan seems to be gathering.

“Andaran atish’an,” her Keeper says, inclining her head. “It is good to see you again, Ellana.”

“Ma serannas, Keeper,” she replies. She takes a deep breath. How to best delicately introduce a near-to Elvhen god? They both decided it was probably wise not to attempt to conceal his identity, as any attempt at subterfuge would sooner or later be discovered and would not help, but they never really decided just how to introduce him. “This is…”

“I am known as Fen’Harel,” Solas says calmly. There are a few gasps, but most just exchange glances, Ellana notes. They knew, or at least suspected. How? Has word spread even here? “Though you may call me Solas. Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris.”

Ellana can hear many whispers behind her at that, but Keeper Istimaethoriel seems strangely unfazed, or perhaps just pretending to be.

“Solas,” the Keeper says, inclining her head. “I am Deshanna Istimaethoriel, Keeper of clan Lavellan. You are welcome here.”

Ellana can hear herself exhale. The Elders and hunters nod at each other, she notes, accepting the decision. Deshanna and Solas exchange a glance that isn’t hostile, but still seems to hold a challenge. This is not at all how she expected this all to play out, but at least it seems to be going relatively well. There is no open hostility, for one thing, which she was half expecting, half dreading.

“Ma serannas, Keeper” Solas says, inclining his head. “I suspect you have questions.”

They all have, as it turns out.

II

It is far into the evening when Deshanna comes to sit next to Ellana. By the fire, Solas is still talking, still telling his tale of Elvhenan and the fall, interrupted by the occasional question, and the whole clan is listening with rapt attention. He is addressing several members of her clan by name as he speaks, names she taught him, and never wavers in his politeness. Ellana has never considered herself blind to his charm – if anything, she was perhaps too aware of it – but she has never quite considered it in terms of others – perhaps because he didn’t always bother to try with some of the others. He is most certainly trying now. Now, she can truly see how he has amassed his followers, how he became a leader of the Elvhen so long ago. 

“It is truly good to see you, Ellana,” Deshanna says after a moment, dropping the formality of their roles, as they sometimes would. “It has been too long, though I understand why. When I sent you to spy on the Chantry, I never imagined it would take you away from us.”

“Who could have imagined the path it would lead to?” Ellana says softly, glancing over at Solas. “I am still not certain where it will end for me, Deshanna.”

Deshanna nods slowly. “Lath araval ena. Even as a child, you were not dissuaded by the impossible. You will find a way.”

Ellana fights an urge to cry. Oh, how she wants that to be true. For everyone’s sake. For her sake. For his.

“You knew who he was before he introduced himself,” she says after a moment. “You all knew.”

“Yes,” Deshanna says. She sighs. “We heard whispers at first. Many refused to believe them. Others feared them to be true, feared the return of the Dread Wolf. The whispers became tales, and the tales… The tales were alluring. Fear became curiosity. Curiosity became draw. Many follow him now. Dalish and city elves alike. Some of the clans have sworn themselves to him fully, Ellana. There are many in our clan who wish to do the same.”

Ellana nods. She can see that – she can see the excitement, the longing, on many of the faces turned to Solas. Her clan may trade with humans and be on friendly terms with chosen towns and villages, but all Dalish, almost all elves – long for something better. The desire to hold on to the past is not just a matter of pride, Ellana has come to realize. It is also about what feels missing in the present, what they want for their future.

What they have lost. 

“How do you know him?” Deshanna asks, looking at her intently.

“I did not know him as Fen’Harel at first,” she replies. “He was Solas, an apostate mage that joined the Inquisition. He helped us with defeating the Venatori. He was a mystery, but none of us expected him to be… What he is.”

“What he is,” Deshanna repeats. She looks over at him, and Ellana remembers being told many tales of Fen’Harel, Deshanna’s voice barely concealing her disgust at his actions. 

“We were wrong about him,” she says. “We were wrong about so much.”

Deshanna lowers her eyes. “I refused to believe that at first. I have taken great pride in keeping what I believed to be knowledge of our people. It is hard to accept that we have honored and preserved lies.”

“Have you accepted it?” Ellana asks. It matters to her, she realizes, that her clan accepts the truth. Solas may have learned to accept contempt, but she is unwilling to. At least from her clan.

“I am learning to accept the possibility,” Deshanna says simply. “Da’len, who is he to you?”

Ellana swallows. She knew this question would come, sooner or later. “My Solas. My wolf. My heart. I love him, Deshanna.”

“Oh, Ellana,” Deshanna says. Her voice is grieved, but tender too. “Who are you to him?”

“Vhenan,” Ellana says. She feels tears prick at her eyes, and gently, Deshanna hugs her, kissing the top of her head. It is such a motherly gesture that it makes Ellana’s heart ache. 

“My impossible child,” Deshanna says, her voice a little choked. “Ellana, after your mother died, I tried to look after you as best I could. I am so proud of what you have become. As impossible as it seems, if anyone could catch the heart of the Dread Wolf, it would be you.”

Ellana cannot help a laugh, a helpless, bleak laugh. “It would be me. I was afraid you would…”

“No,” Deshanna says. “There are those who would scorn your choice, who would look at you with disdain. Perhaps you have faced some of that already. Perhaps you will have to face more. But they do not know you. I do. The past is not what we thought. The present is uncertain. The future is unknown. But you, Ellana of clan Lavellan, will always be dear to my heart, no matter who you love, no matter if you bear the vallaslin or not. Everything else may change. That will not.”

Ellana just nods. She doesn’t trust her voice not to break. She wasn’t sure what reaction she would get from her clan, bringing with her Fen’Harel himself and with no vallaslin. She expected having to fight for accept, to fight for his accept, and was prepared for it. This… This she was not prepared for, and it makes composure all the harder. 

Deshanna pulls back, smiling at her before patting Ellana’s hand softly. “I have arranged for you to stay in one of our aravels tonight. There is food and drink there for you both. We will talk more tomorrow.”

Ellana watches her walk away. When she was growing up, her Keeper always seemed all-knowing, with all the answers, all the wisdom. Now, her Keeper seems like an aging woman, struggling with answers as much as everyone else. Everything feels different now, and she hugs her knees to her, a touch clumsily with only one hand, listening to Solas charm her clan well into the night.

II

The fire has faded, and only stars and the moon offer light by the time her clan runs out of questions about Elvhenan (or simply become too tired to think of any more) and Solas comes to find her. He smiles at her apologetically, but there is something bright in his eyes that tells her he enjoyed the questions. He always did with her, she remembers. He enjoys curiosity as much as he enjoys offering knowledge. 

They eat before they settle into the aravel. There are enough furs and blankets within to make bedding for a small group, a Dalish attempt at luxury, though she isn’t sure if that is to honor her, or him. Probably him, if she is perfectly honest. Her clan cares for her, but they have never been in awe of her.

After they have made themselves comfortable, Solas nestles behind her and holds her.

“You seem unsettled,” he says softly. 

“I am,” she admits. “This is not the reaction I expected. I thought… I suppose I assumed they would still be as they were when I left them. But years have passed for them too, and much has happened in those years.”

“They have changed,” he says. 

“Yes,” she agrees. He kisses the back of her neck, and waits, as if he knows there is more. “It doesn’t feel like coming home.”

“Because they have changed?”

“No,” she says, closing her eyes. “It is not them. It is me. I still love them. I still treasure the memories of my life with them. It’s just… I have changed. This is no longer my home because I am no longer that Ellana. This is the home of my past.”

“Ah,” he says. “I am truly sorry, vhenan.”

He understands the loss of home all too well, she knows, and she finds a strange sort of comfort in that shared understanding. There is comfort in his presence too, feeling him so near, and she longs to be even closer.

“Solas,” she murmurs, and he immediately understands, pressing himself closer. He makes love to her life that; kissing her neck, her shoulders, her back while thrusting into her in slick strokes that leaves her gasping for breath. She lets herself just feel, not think; feels his fingers press into her skin, feels his chest press against the arch of her back, feels his mouth hotly at her neck, feels every inch of him inside her, hard and straining.

“Ma vhenas, ma vhenan,” he whispers lovingly; she whimpers his name as she comes. He is not content with just once, pushing her to the height of pleasure and the fall after once more before he finally lets go himself; they fall asleep still sweaty and slightly breathless, finding comfort in each other.

II

She wakes abruptly, her head pounding. For a moment, she has a faint memory of a dream, a dream of being hunted by a great hunter, the great hunter, but it evaporates as mist in the morning, leaving only a sensation of being unsettled.

It is still dark outside, but Solas is not sleeping next to her. She can still feel his warmth in the blankets, so he has not been long gone, but she still feels a moment of fear. He is Fen’Harel, surrounded by the Dalish, and even if her clan seems to have received him well, it would only take one lashing out in anger. 

Hurriedly, she puts on enough to be decent, and walks outside. It is just before dawn, she realizes, the promise of coming light at the edge of the horizon. At the center of the camp, the fire is still out, but by it, she sees two huddled figures. 

Solas and Deshanna, she realizes. They are clearly talking, but there is no sound carrying. A ward? Must be a ward. What are they talking about? 

She does not think. Somehow, she knows without thinking what to do, knows a spell that is like an arrow, piercing the ward and allowing her to hear what is being said.

Solas is talking, his voice low and persuasive. 

“Only I know how to unlock it,” he says, “and now you. Clan Lavellan will be safe there. There is latent magic there, magic that will defend and protect you. There is knowledge there, tomes and artifacts from the days of Elvhenan. You will truly become keepers of Elvhen history there, should you wish to. Keepers of the lost lore.”

“Why would you give us such a gift?” Deshanna asks. She sounds a little awed, but manages to keep an admirable composure for talking to someone she once told ancient tales of. 

“For her,” Solas says quietly, sincerely. “Most of all for her, but also because I would like there to be true keepers of Elvhenan should I fail my duty to the People. Your clan raised Ellana. If you could raise someone of her spirit, then it is possible your clan may carry a spark of what once was. A spark is a beginning.”

Deshanna is silent for a moment. “I gather you do not think much of the Dalish, Fen’Harel.”

“The Dalish did not think much of me,” he counters smoothly. “It is true that when I woke, I saw the Dalish like a mockery of what was once Elvhen. I saw in you only what was lost and misremembered, and it grieved me. I could not see beyond my grief until Ellana made me see that even if your ways are misjudged, your intentions are honorable.” 

They are silent for a while, and Ellana mulls their conversation over, trying to make sense of it. What is Solas offering her clan? An ancient Elvhen place of some sort, it seems, but what and where?

“Fen’Harel ma ghilana,” Deshanna says finally. “A few years ago, I would have thought myself a fool to even listen to the Dread Wolf, let alone make an agreement with him. So be it. I accept your gift to clan Lavellan, Hahren.”

“Ma serannas,” Solas says. Elanna thinks she can hear a note of relief in his voice. “There is one more matter I wish to discuss with you, Keeper. A personal matter.”

“Ellana,” Deshanna says. Ellana feels the heat in her cheeks. She really, really should not be listening to this. “She told me what you were to each other.” 

“Ah,” Solas says. His voice is slightly hesitant. “You disapprove?”

“It is not for me to disapprove. She may bond whom she chooses,” Deshanna says. “You are not what I would have wanted for her, but you are what she has chosen. I honor her choice.”

“I am not what I would have wanted for her,” he says sadly, “but yes, I am who she has chosen. I wish to honor her choice. I wish to bond her, if she wishes it too. Here, among her clan. Would you allow it, Keeper?”

Ellana feels her breath catch, and hears herself gasp. In the dark, she can see Solas turn slightly, as if he heard, and she hurriedly ends the spell and slips back into the aravel. He wishes to bond her. Here, among her clan, he wishes to take part in a Dalish custom to honor her. 

Ma vhenas, ma vhenan, he whispered to her earlier, she remembers. My home, my heart. Oh, Solas.

“Vhenan,” she hears his voice say sternly, and she looks up to see him entering. “You were listening in.”

“Yes,” she admits. He kneels down next to her. “I woke, and you weren’t here. I was worried. When I saw you talking to Keeper Istimaethoriel, I chose to listen in. Ir abelas, Solas.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t look mad. “Your mastery of my spells continues to astonish me, though in this case, you should be aware this particular spell carries sound both ways. It was designed to pierce silencing wards and allow communication, not specifically to eavesdrop on others.”

“You heard me,” she surmises, and he nods. 

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking her hand in his.

“I heard you offer my clan a gift,” she says. “I assume that is how you will ensure my clan will be in a position to protect me.”

“Yes,” he says. “It is an ancient place, but it managed to retain enough magic to remain shielded and it has not fallen into ruin, unlike so many other marvels of Elvhenan. Not even my followers know of it. Now it belongs to your clan. Your Keeper and her First will visit it in a few days. We can go along, should you wish to see it.”

She nods slightly, struggling to keep her voice light. “I would like that.”

“Ellana,” he says softly. “I know you heard the last part.”

“Yes,” she says. “Solas, bonding is a Dalish custom. You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he says fiercely. “In this world, in your world, bonding is the symbol of commitment and love. The Elvhen bonded too. The desire to commit, to love, was the same, even if the ceremonies and customs related to it were different. Perhaps I will be able to offer you an Elvhen ceremony as well one day. Here and now, I want this. Ar lath ma, vhenan. Will you bond me?” 

This is what else he was planning, she realizes. A show of commitment to her. Perhaps he even desires the thought of her making a commitment to him, even if it is through a Dalish custom. It is still a commitment. It is still a show of love. It is still a promise. It is still the hope that home can be found in the heart of another. 

His eyes are very, very bright as he looks at her, still kneeling and holding her hand, and she realizes she is right. He does desire this. Genuinely, truly, sincerely, he wants this.

Does she?

“Yes,” she says simply, and means it with all her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andaran atish’an - Enter this place in peace  
> Ma serannas - my thanks  
> Fen’Harel ma ghilana - Dread Wolf guides you


	11. Part Ten: Truly

Part Ten: Truly

II

Ellana cannot remember thinking much about bonding as she grew up. She was aware that it was a possibility, of course, and she certainly didn’t discount it, but she never imagined it happening simply because she had no one in mind to imagine it with. There were none that she seriously considered bonding with, and thus, it remained just a possibility and not a serious consideration for most of her early life. 

Now, she is to bond her heart, her love, her wolf – who is also Fen’Harel of legend, except the Dalish legends were mostly wrong and he is both greater and more fearsome than her people believed. If she had imagined it, she is pretty sure she could never have thought that up. 

Still. Even if she could never have imagined this, it is what she wants. She wants him. Oh, how she wants him. At times, it is almost painful how much she wants him. 

Solas hasn’t stopped kissing her since she said yes. Light kisses against her skin, especially across her face and along the shell of her ears. Every now and then he licks his way into her mouth too, kissing her with a greed that makes her head spin and her breath catch. He’s pulled her onto his lap, supporting her back with one hand while the other is caressing her neck. 

The first rays of sunlight are starting to filter through the aravel – the faint morning light is still cold, but in his embrace, she feels warm. 

“Solas,” she whispers, pressing her hand against his heart. “How much do you know of the Dalish bonding ritual?”

“I have learned what I could,” he replies, kissing her forehead. “Are you worried I might take offense at parts of it?”

“We do envoke Sylaise in our vows,” she points out. 

He sighs, looking troubled for a moment. “You would not want her to bless any union. She was not the worst of the Evanuris, but her crimes were many and terrible.”

“Then we will not include her in our vows,” she says, and he tilts his head slightly. 

“I wish to honor you, vhenan,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice is undeniable. “As you are – and you are Dalish. I am prepared to do the ritual as it would be done traditionally.”

“I am Dalish,” she agrees. “But that is not all that I am, and you, you are not Dalish. Solas, I want us to bond, truly bond, but that means it must be true for us both. If there are parts of our ritual that do not feel true to you, I don’t want it as a part of our ceremony.”

He looks touched, stroking her cheek softly. “As always, your wisdom astounds me, vhenan. It shall be as you wish.”

He kisses her softly, lacing his fingers in hers. 

“Are there other parts you may be uncomfortable with?” she asks, and she can see him think, taking his time to truly consider how he feels. She kisses his brow as he does, not rushing him. He is used to burying his feelings, after all. Habits take time to change.

“I do not believe so,” he says after a while. “I know it is tradition for couples to exchange gifts before the bonding, and I am happy to do so. I truly do not mind your clan being present as your Keeper performs the ritual if you wish it.”

“I wish it,” she confirms. “They were my home and they are still my family. They matter to me, Solas.”

“I know,” he says, lifting their entwined hands to kiss the back of her hand. “That means they matter to me too. I will ensure their survival.”

There is a slight hint of steel in his voice, as if he’s making a sort of vow. It makes her wonder if his gift to her clan might be more than he said. Would it keep them safe even through the Veil being torn down? 

“What else is in your vows?” he asks after a moment.

“Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris,” she says softly. 

“Bellanaris,” he repeats. There is a slightly odd tone to his voice. “Forever is easy to promise between mortals. Forever would mean decades, not centuries. Not an age. It is far harder to promise forever when it might mean ages.”

“Ah,” she says, not sure what else to say. Sometimes, the reminder of just how old he is feels overwhelming. “You can make your own vows, Solas. It is traditionally allowed. You don’t have to promise me anything that would not feel true to you.”

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. She cannot quite make out his expression, but she can hear his breath catch.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, lightly brushing her nose against his.

“Of ages,” he says slowly. “And you. How an age with you would feel.”

“Oh,” she says. She swallows. How would that feel, she wonders. An age with Solas. She’s enjoyed what time they’ve had together, but it has been relatively brief, at least by his standards. Time has not been a luxury 

“If there was a way to restore Elvhenan without…” he murmurs, trailing off. “Vhenan, I can promise you my love forever. I do not know if I can promise you me forever.”

“Solas,” she says. She bites her lip, fighting an urge to cry. “I love you. You told me I would have all you can give me in this world, and I ask for no more. I love you.”

“I know,” he says, his smile sad as he lifts his head to look at her. He cradles her head in his hands, kissing the edges of her eyes. Tears, she guesses. His expression is thoughtful and just a touch wistful. What he might long for, she doesn’t know, but it might the same she longs for – a way to restore his world and keeps hers, a world they can be together in. “I wish loving me was simpler, vhenan, but I do not question that you do love me.”

She smiles faintly. “I was never one for easy.”

“I can believe that,” he says, his voice fond. “I know I have given you cause to question my love for you in the past.”

“Solas…”

He puts a finger to her lips. “I have. I had my reasons, but that does not change how I made you feel. I am sorry for that, my love.”

“I know,” she says. She can see the regret and grief in his eyes, after all. “I have forgiven you.”

“I have not,” he says, and she wonders how it’s possible to love and despair at how hard he is on himself at the same time. “I will endeavor not to give you cause again.”

It is a promise to himself as much as her, she suspects. He will not give up on his cause, and it will come into conflict with his love for her. It already has countless times. It will cause them both pain, but she has faith they can endure it.

“Var lath vir suledin,” she whispers. His eyes soften as he looks at her, and she knows how much he wants to believe it. Tenderly, he kisses her, lacing his fingers into her hair.

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips; it feels like a promise.

II

The sun has long risen by the time they emerge from the aravel, having shared breakfast (and made a meal out of each other along the way). The camp is emptier than yesterday, with many off to hunt or off to Wycombe to trade, but they still attract more than a few glances as they walk together, hand in hand. Many still seem a touch wary, but there are also those who regard Solas with curiosity, even respect. He is noticing that, she is pretty sure, even if he does not outwardly react. 

How would he feel about the Dalish if he spent years with her clan, she wonders. How would they feel about him?

Keeper Deshanna is talking to her First, Vahra, as they approach. It sounds as if they are discussing the Wycombe city council, though why, she can’t quite tell. 

“Hahren,” Ellana says formally. 

“Da’len,” Deshanna replies to her, then turns to Solas. For a moment, she seems to consider how to address him. “Hahren.”

He looks pleased by that, Ellana notes. He always reacted well when she acknowledged his skill and knowledge – he might not care much for flattery for flattery’s sake, but he does take pride in what he knows and what he can do. 

“Solas and I wish to bond,” Ellana says, and Deshanna looks at her, eyes soft. “Soon, if possible. We cannot linger here too long without putting you all in danger.”

“I can perform the ritual tomorrow,” Deshanna replies. “But regardless of danger, we are your clan. You will always have a place here, Ellana – and Solas with you.”

Ellana swallows the lump in her throat. Even if she has changed, and grown apart from her clan, it still matters to her to know she will be welcome – and not only her. 

“Ma serannas, Keeper,” Solas says politely, but he sounds sincere as well. He exchanges a glance with Deshanna that Ellana can’t quite make out. “Tomorrow will be fine. The day after, I will be happy to deliver the gift we discussed earlier.”

Deshanna nods. “Agreed. There is another matter we need to discuss. The Wycombe city council has received a request from the Chantry, asking if the clan is willing to receive an emissary from them. I assume they intend to ask about you, Ellana.”

“Undoubtedly,” Ellana says. She glances up at Solas, who returns her gaze and inclines his head slightly, indicating it is her decision. He always accepted her leadership within the Inquisition, but now that it is just the two of them, a sort of partnership, it feels good that he is willing to let her make decisions too. “Can you keep our visit here secret, and instead ‘accidentally’ let them discover you expect my presence in the near future?”

“Of course,” Deshanna says. Her smile is almost predatory. “I will instruct the clan and play my part. I shall let the emissary take great delight in believing she has tricked an aging, addled Dalish elf to reveal a great secret.”

Solas lets out a short, barking laugh. “Addled? You?”

Deshanna changes her pose, huddling, adopting a confused expression, clutching her fingers. Vahra immediately steps up to support her by the elbow, looking oh so sincerely concerned. Ellana has seen this particular act a few times before, but it still amuses her how quickly her Keeper can go from seeming as sharp as an arrow to as dull as a leaf. 

“Impressive,” Solas compliments, tilting his head. “Using prejudice towards age and towards elves to your advantage.”

“Yes,” Deshanna says, straightening again. Vahra steps back. “As Dalish, we need every advantage we can get in this world.”

“This is not how it should be,” Solas says. He looks genuinely grieved for a moment. “You should not have to resort to this. You should not have to live as shadows of what once was.”

Deshanna looks straight at him. “Better this than slavery. The Dalish chose to be free, to pay the price of freedom in hardship and struggle. Will you fault us for that, Fen’Harel, as you fault us for misjudging the past?”

He meets her gaze, holds it. Ellana can feel her shoulders tense. There is a challenge in Deshanna’s words, but sometimes, Solas does need to be challenged. She has challenged him, and he has accepted it, even admired her for it. Will he accept this?

“No,” he finally says. “I will not fault you for desiring freedom above all else. Ir abelas, da’len. This is my fault. I failed the People.”

“We are what remains of the Elvhen,” Deshanna says. “The Dalish, the city elves, the slaves. We have endured. We are here. Do not fail _us_ , hahren.”

Solas closes his eyes. Ellana knows how hard it is for him to see the Elvhen in the elves of today, but she knows he has to if she is to have any chance of convincing him that his duty is not to a world long gone, but to the world today. 

“Ir abelas,” he says again, opening his eyes. The sorrow in them nearly staggers Ellana, but he quickly masks it. “I shall endeavor not to.”

“Clan Lavellan shall endeavor to correct misjudgments of the past,” Deshanna says, and the two nod at each other as if they have promised each other something. “I will perform the bonding ritual tomorrow. Today will be yours.”

“Ellana,” Solas says softly, turning his attention to her. His gaze is loving, caressing her and making her long for his touch. “There is a place nearby I would like to take you today.”

“I will be happy to go with you,” she tells him, fighting an urge to kiss him here and now, no matter their audience. “I need a moment first.”

He nods, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. “I shall wait for you by the aravel, vhenan.”

He strides away, and Ellana watches him go. Behind her, she can hear Deshanna send Vahra off to make arrangements for the ritual tomorrow, leaving just her and the Keeper.

“How did you know how to speak to him?” she asks after a moment. “I overheard you yesterday and now today. I think you have impressed him.”

“I didn’t know,” Deshanna says. “He is Fen’harel, a terrifying legend to all Dalish. How would anyone know how to speak to him? I merely realized that if he loves you, my impossible child, he would not be someone who enjoyed being spoken to with mindless devotion and groveling. Nor would he enjoy needless insults and pettiness. I spoke to him as I taught you to speak.”

“He likes questions,” Ellana says after a moment, and Deshanna chuckles.

“You were always good at questions.”

Ellana can only nod at that. She would annoy so many with her seemingly endless questions, she remembers, but not Solas. She suspects he might even enjoy her questions for an eternity.

“Thank you,” Ellana says, and Deshanna smiles at her. “For everything.” 

“You, as you are, is thanks enough,” Deshanna says, cupping her cheek. “My child.”

“Yes,” Ellana says, feeling tears prick at her eyes. Not by blood, no, but Deshanna has been the only mother she has ever known. Softly, Deshanna kisses her brow, then steps away and walks in the direction Vahra headed.

Ellana takes a deep breath before heading to find Solas. He is leaning against the aravel, watching a nearby halla, but shifts his gaze to her the moment he notices her.

“Vhenan,” he says, embracing her. She must not be as composed as she hoped to be. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she tells him. “Nothing is wrong. I am merely feeling… Feelings. Keeper Deshanna is the closest to a mother I have ever known. My actual mother died when I was very young. I don’t even remember her.”

“Ah,” he says. He kisses her temple. “Your Keeper is admirable. I always wondered how the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours. I am beginning to see how now.”

“Truly?” she asks. Her heart is pounding slightly in her chest as she awaits his answer. 

“Truly,” he says sincerely, and she pulls him down for a fierce kiss, not caring how many of her clan will see. He is surprised at first, but is soon kissing her back with equal fervor, lifting her up and pressing her against him. 

This matters, she thinks as she clings to him. Solas has seen the Dalish as a concept he disagrees with, and her as an exception for so long. If he can see something more than that, if he can see beyond his grief… That matters. That truly matters a great deal. 

It may make the difference between the end of the world or not.


End file.
